


Murder Most Exquisite

by PinkGloom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1920s AU, Egyptian AU, I really have no idea how to tag this, I'll think of more later, John has an anger issue, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Murder, Mystery, Reincarnation, Sherlock is an ass, Smut, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGloom/pseuds/PinkGloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Egyptian Archeologist 1920s </p><p>Retired Army Doctor John Watson works at Holmes Antiquities in Cairo. The Holmes brothers pay a visit and while they are there, mummies are unearthed. Murder, smut and a dash of adventure! (Was written with the Indian Jones trilogy, The Mummy and the amazing novels written by Elizabeth Peters in mind)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was written with the Indian Jones trilogy, The Mummy and the amazing novels written by Elizabeth Peters. ( I highly recommend reading them.)
> 
> Rotating POV 
> 
> Please let me know if you spot any glaring mistakes with grammar or information.

"They're what?!" It had been twenty years since John Watson had had a temper tantrum but at the last words of the museum's main curator he was damn close to having one.

"Keep your voice down." Lestrade released a long sigh as his hand covered his face; it was the posture of a man who was completely over everything life had to throw him. "I don't want the others to know, at least not yet."

"Why are they coming here?" John hissed through clinched teeth. He had been working at the Holmes Antiquities for over four years; right after he had been shot in the left shoulder and discharged from the army. It was quiet work and no one ever bothered him- till now.

"They want to examine the headpiece that was discovered."

"THA-" At the distressed look in Lestrade's eyes, John lowered his tone to an angry whisper. "That is  _mine._ I was given permission to work on it. That headpiece is  _mine._ " John's fists were clenched at his sides and he longed for something to throw.

"Well, the museum is the Holmes' property, I'm afraid. And that includes all artifacts uncovered by their employees. You realize this could be the find of the century and so do they."

"So why can't they send someone from the field? Someone who isn't accustomed to sitting on their posh arse all day? Hum?" John jaw hurt from how hard he was trying not to raise his voice again.

Lestrade decked his fingers through his gray hair. "His brother, Sherlock is his name, he's renowned for his ability to examine an artifact and tell if it's a fake or not. Mr. Holmes wants him to examine it."

John nearly lost it all over again. "What? Mr. Holmes doesn't even trust his own employees? He hired me! He should be able to trust my opinion!"

"Sheesh!" Lestrade hushed the angry man. "John, get ahold of yourself. We'll deal with it. We will act like competent  _polite_ employees. Answer all questions and then calmly escort them out when they're done. And  _then_ we will proceed as we always have. Understood?"

John rolled his eyes in reply.

* * *

 

John blinked his eyes heavily. He had stayed up all night trying to unravel the mystery of the headpiece but he was still no closer than where he had started. John took another sip of coffee. It was his- what? Ninth, tenth cup? John sighed when he swallowed the last of the black liquid. Even though it tasted like tar it still managed to keep him awake.

At the sound of a knock, John turned his head to Lestrade walking though the door. The curator's eyes widened in surprise. "John, what are you doing here so early? Did you even go home?"

John shook his head. "I was trying to figure out this damn thing before they showed up." He gestured angrily at the headpiece on the table in front of him.

It was a Hemhem crown- that much was obvious. Other than that, John couldn't figure out where it had originated or who might have owned it. There had been a famous one that had once adorned the head of Rameses II. He just couldn't tell! There had been crafting techniques that had changed over the years and John didn't know all the specifics. It was an impossible to know them all!

"The damn library here doesn't have the books I need!" John pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting up his glasses as he rubbed his eyes.  _God, I need sleep!_

Lestrade opened his mouth to answer, when a knock stopped him mid-breath. Both men turned to see a tall gentlemen with red hair and a tailored suit. John knew instantly who it was.

Before John could say something foolish, Lestrade crossed the small room to shake the hands with him. "Mr. Holmes, I presume?"

The red-headed man took the outstretched arm and shook it. "Yes, you would be correct."

"I'm Gregory Lestrade, the main curator here and this would be Doctor John Watson." Lestrade tilted his head back at the sitting man. John rose to shake hands with his employer. He could barely keep the frown off of his face.  _Posh._

"Ah, yes. Pleasure." From his tone, John couldn't tell if the man meant it or not. "So, gentlemen, how are things progressing with the headpiece?" Mycroft swept between them and over to the table.

"I regret to say it, but despite John's best efforts we still cannot verify if it was owned by Ramses II or not." Lestrade made his way to the other side of the table. "However I have full faith in his ability to-"

A gasp and then a sob erupted from inside the library, followed by a crash. All three men turned to the sound. Mycroft pursed his lips like he had just bit into a lemon. "Sherlock."

"What has he done to Molly?" Fearing that the man had taken sexual advantage of their liberian and secretary, John ran from the room ready to defend her honor. John entered the library to see Molly sobbing, her hands covering her face and Mike's sputtering red faced at the other man in the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" John strode over to the man, grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"What-" The words died on John's lips when he caught sight of deep gray blue eyes. Or were they green? Yellow? Colors swirled before him and John swayed; his lack of sleep finally catching up with him.

The other man put his hand on John's arm to steady him. He gave John an odd look as he raised an eyebrow.

"Well, well, Sherlock. You could have at least waited until we did formal introductions before you alienated everyone." Mycroft gave his brother a hard look.

John removed his hand from Sherlock's shoulder. He blinked, trying to remove the hazy from his vision. "What did you say to her? So help me, if you laid a finger on her!"

"Stop making a fool of yourself."

"Excuse me?" John asked incredulously.

"You heard me. I have no interest in the likes of her. I merely told her that she had the library in complete disarray." Sherlock crossed his arms and looked defiantly at John.

Mike stepped forward. "And then he started throwing books off the shelves!"

"Sherlock, you cannot just go about doing this. Remember?" Mycroft looked at Sherlock like a disappointed father.

"Fine! You want the library to be completely categorized wrong? Have it your way." Sherlock's cheeks flushed with rage.

Lestrade took a step forward. Trying to defuse the situation he said, "Um, I'm sure there was no harm intended. Molly can be a little sentimental over her books. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, right? It's a pleasure. I'm Gregory Lestrade."

Lestrade held out his hand. After a long moment, Sherlock shook it once and quickly released it. "Charmed." Like his brother, Sherlock sounded like anything but that. The Holmes brothers lacked the ability to sound sincere at all.

"And this is Doctor John Watson." Lestrade gestured at John.

Despite his desire not to, John's hand shot out for a handshake out of habit. When Sherlock took it, John squeezed a little harder than necessary. Sherlock didn't flinch at the extra pressure and instead answered with his own.  _Oh, that's the way its going to be, is it?_

At the feel of his hand, John knew that Sherlock had never worked a hard day's worth of labour in his entire life. The posh brat's hands were as smooth a woman's lace glove. Not a single scar or blemish could be found on his porcelain skin. John held in a snort.  _He probably can't even brew tea for himself. He's suppose to be the great artifact's expert? Please! He hardly looks older than nineteen._ John refused to be beaten by a teenager.

"John, I believe that you are the one examining the headpiece in question. Although you are doing it rather poorly." It was spoken with a complete disregard for respect and John wanted to punch the brat in the face.

"Holmes, while I do understand that I am an employee of your family, I will be addressed with the proper title. Either Captain or Doctor Watson will do." John bore his eyes into the younger man.

"Stop being so common." With that Sherlock made his way to the examination room. A trail of people following after him.

* * *

 

"It's a fake. Obviously." Sherlock had barely passed a glance at the headpiece before declaring it a fake.

John grit his teeth. "And how in the  _world_ would you know that?" He was tempted to add,  _Have you ever even seen a real Egyptian headpiece?_

Sherlock grabbed a pencil and used to point at the Hemhem crown. "If you look here. At that chisel mark, it's obviously been made with a modern lettering stroke. Completely worthless."

John stared down at the mark Sherlock had indicated. It was a chisel mark, as plain as the nose on his face. John wanted to swear and stomp out of the room. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the room grew uncomfortably hot.

John turned to Sherlock, who had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. John wanted to wring his neck. Still, a small voice at the back of John's mind admired how he had seen the mark so easily.

"Extraordinary." The word was out before he could stop it. John swallowed hard.

It was almost comical, the look of shock on everyone's faces; it had obviously been the last comment they had expected to hear from John. He was sure that the same shocked expression was reflected on his own face. That had certainly _not_ been the word he had been looking for.

"Really?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes were wide and there was a look of anticipation on his face.

"Yes, that was quite extraordinary."

Sherlock's face cracked into a wide toothed smile. He looked as if the teacher had just called him his prize pupil. John had no idea what to make of the situation and hoped someone else would speak up before he could make an even bigger fool of himself.

"Now I've heard everything."

The bubble of bliss was popped and Sherlock's expression soured at the words of distain from his brother. Mycroft poked the headpiece with his umbrella. "Well, now that that's settled. I would like to go over your files, Mr. Lestrade."

Mycroft offered them all a curt nod as he and Lestrade left the room. Lestrade shot John an apologetic look as he followed his boss out of the room.

John turned his head to Molly. She was still sniffling and John's rage came back to the surface. "You still haven't apologized to Molly for what you did earlier."

Molly flirted her head from side to side. "Oh, no, he doesn't need to apologize. He just shocked me that was all. I'm sure the ancient history of Jordan section was all out of order. I haven't rechecked it in at least a month."

Mike stared at Sherlock but didn't open his mouth. However John was sure if looks could kill then Sherlock would be an ash pile on the floor. Whether it was in his best interests or not, John wasn't satisfied with just giving the boy the evil eye.

"No, I won't stand for it. You listen here. You are to treat your elders with the respect that they deserve." John's voice was hard.

"I see no one here worthy of my respect." Sherlock cocked his head up and glowered down at them. "I turned twenty this year and I am no longer a child."

John couldn't contain a harsh laugh. "Twenty, really? You're so scrawny you hardly look over eighteen." It was a lie, but John wanted to knock him down a peg or two.

"This coming from the man who barely reaches my shoulder." Sherlock's lips twisted up into a sarcastic smile.

Before John could tackle him, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't have to turn around to know it was Mike.

"Come now. How about I make some tea and we can put this all behind us?" Mike spoke with a forced cheerfulness.

John took a few steadying breaths. This wasn't how the day was suppose to go! Maybe it would have been better if he had gotten that good night sleep after all. At the mention of tea, John knew that was exactly what he needed in lieu of a ten hour nap.

"I have no time for that." Without a further word or even a good-bye Sherlock walked pass them, exiting the room.

* * *

 

John didn't know if tea could be drunk 'violently' but that was exactly how he was drinking the tea that Mike had offered him. The liquid burned his throat and John welcomed the stinging sensation as tears pooled in his eyes.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to be rude." Molly said. She blushed a pretty pink before she continued. "He had such a strict face-"

"Don't." John held up a hand. "He was an arse. A complete and total spoiled brat. Don't even try and deny it."  _Even if his knowledge of ancient Egyptian is more than I would have expected._

As Mike and Molly had brewed the tea, John had made his way over to the pile of books on the library floor. His curiosity had gotten the best of him and John had checked to see if Sherlock had been right or not.

He had.

Molly had accidentally placed two books on the same shelf when they should have been a shelf apart. It was such a small mistake, how had the Holmes boy noticed it so quickly? John sighed. He wasn't sure if it was in disgust or resignation.

"John?"

John blinked as Mike called his name again. "Hm?"

"Think we lost you there, chap. I said, now that the Holmeses are gone, do you plan on hitting the hay? You look like you could do with some sleep." Mike took off his glasses and polished one of the lenses with a handkerchief.

"Yeah, you're right. Tell Lestrade will you?" John drained the last of his tea.

He said his good-byes to the others. John grabbed his jacket and put on his hat as he made his way out into Cairo and back to his apartment.


	2. Dune 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch the Mummy if you really want to get in the mood. All my clothing ideas are from that movie. Sherlock is dressed like the guy who loses his eyes. I love the idea of Sherlock in suspenders.

John made his way through Soliman Pasha Street. It was abuzz with activity in the early morning and John found that the sounds turned to white noise in his ears. Everything before his eyes swam in and out of focus. He really should have gone to sleep earlier.

Suddenly all other thoughts were pushed aside when John heard yelling but it wasn't like the normal yelling in the rest of the market; no, this was in the Queen's English and John didn't have to think twice to know who it was.

John picked up his pace and he refocused his line of vision.  _I'm going to kill him._

There was the Holmes brat arguing with one of the merchants.  _Great gods, how could he be so thick?_ John was tempted to let Sherlock deal with the consequences of his actions but...John sighed in resignation.

Sherlock was busy yelling and gesturing wildly about how all the merchandise was fake. Of course they were replicas! Everyone knew that. It was part of the illusion that tourists got; they would have to be an utter fool to believe the lies coming out of all the sellers mouths. Rather the relics be fake, they had enough issues with looting as it was. Sherlock continued to make his point in British while the increasingly angry merchant was screaming in Arabic.

John came up beside Sherlock without the youth noticing. "Sabā il kẖayr." (Good morning.)

The merchant stopped his ranting and turned to John. "Winta min ahla" (Good morning, response).

Sherlock's head turned so fast to face John, he almost heard the boy's neck crack. "What do you think your doing?!"

John grabbed Sherlock's upper arm and squeezed tight. "Trying to fix your mess. Now shut it!"

John spent the next few minutes apologizing for the impertinent English man's behaviour. Thankfully Sherlock remained quiet throughout, even if was tapping his foot with impatience.

"Salam." After handing over the last of his gineih, John whispered from the side of his mouth, "Bow."

Sherlock turned to him haughtily. "Excuse me?"

John's arm shot up and he clamped it down on Sherlock's neck. He pushed his neck forward and Sherlock was too shocked to resist. His head bobbed down and the merchant obliged with a tilt of his head.

Re-grabbing Sherlock's arm, John directed them to a small alleyway. John took a few shaky breaths through his nose before addressing the man before him. "Are you a bloody moron? What were you thinking?  _Were_ you thinking?" John wanted to grab the boy's arms and shake some sense into him.

Sherlock glared down at him. "I don't have to answer to you."

John raised his head to the heavens.  _If I was still in the army and you were under my command so help me I would-_

"If you are quite done with your dramatics, I must demand that you  _Let. Me. Go._ " Sherlock spoke the last three words with clenched teeth.

John's hand dropped from Sherlock's upper arm. "Fine, fine. Get yourself killed. Please do us all the favour." John licked his lower lip. "Just back to the Shepard Hotel, okay?"

John turned to leave. Sherlock called after him, "How do you know I'm staying at the Shepard?"

_Because it's the most luxurious hotel here, you idiot._

* * *

 

 

John yawned as he blinked the sleep out his eyes. Stretching out his shoulders and legs, he got up to put the kettle on. He checked his pocket watch as the kettle began to boil.  _3 a.m._

The night was still thick but the lights radiating from the city made it so that John's room was never pitch black. The kettle started to whistle and John grabbed for it before the neighbors could complain. Although it was tempting to make coffee, he opted for tea. Suddenly he needed something that reminded him of home. John took a deep whiff of Orange Pekoe. It was an expensive luxury, the only one he could really afford on his small army pension but worth every penny.

While it was true that the Holmes paid him, most of his salary went to his family back home. His father's drinking had gotten out of hand over the years; especially when he had found a drinking partner with his oldest daughter. That was one of the main reasons John had chosen to stay in Egypt and not return to England. He didn't need to be dragged down any further by his dysfunctional family and John knew if the Watson's had one talent it was guilting members of it into doing things they would regret later.

John sipped on his tea contemplating all life had thrown at him in the last two days.  _Sherlock Holmes._ Despite his best efforts, John's mind kept returning to the boy with a fiery temper and a superiority complex.

With his right hand, John traced his thumb over his fingers.  _Those curls were just as soft as they looked._ Midnight curls that framed such a face.  _Such a face._ With high cheek bones and a cupid bow mouth.  _Lord help me, I was paying enough attention to remember what his lips are shaped like._

John took another sip of tea. John suddenly remembered some of the statues he had once seen in Italy. Sculptured with sharp edges and...

John released his teacup, so that he could dig the heel of his hands into his eyes... _I'm too old for this._

* * *

 

 

With another deep breath, John made his way into Holmes Antiquities. It was quieter than he thought it would be and for one blissful second, John thought that the Holmeses had decided that they had had enough of Cairo.

Molly came running up to him. "John! Fantastic news! They found mummies!" The librarian clapped a few times and practically bounced around from side to side.

"Really? When? Where?" John felt the giddy energy crashing over him. Molly could be infectious and a couple of mummies were exactly what John needed to get his mind off the last twenty-four hours.

"We just received a telegram. They were found at Abdju. Seti, John! This could be the find of the century. Do you think you'll go to the site?" Molly smiled.

"Well, I suppose if Lestrade will allow me. I've been wanting to do more onsite work." John found himself answering Molly's smile. This was almost too good to be true!

"I believe it is us, Captain, that you need permission from."

John's smile froze on his face. He squeezed his eyes tight and willed that when he turned around Sherlock would  _not_ be standing there.  _This was shaping up to be such a lovely day._

"Actually, dear brother, I believe it is I, who can grant permission to Dr. Watson." Mycroft said.

"May I?" He had to go, he just had too. "I believe I would be able to research the-"

"Research? After the Hemhem crown? Who would believe your 'professional' opinion?" Sherlock had his hands on his hips. He had a black eye and John wasn't the least bit surprised by it.

"All right. I admit that wasn't my best work. However Mr. Holmes did hire me for a reason."

"Maybe because he took pity on a wounded solider from her Majesty's army." Sherlock bit back.

"Say that again." John was shaking with fury. He was going to kill the little bastard. Witnesses or not.

"Now now. Sherlock, that won't do at all." Mycroft chastised. "If Dr. Watson wishes to inspect the site than he should be allowed too."

"Then I'm going too!"

"What?!" John couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You? Out in the desert? You won't last a day!" John let out a manic chuckle.

"I believe I see your point. Yes, why don't we make a trip of it than." Mycroft smiled at John.

"Not with you!" Sherlock stomped his foot.

"Are you than proposing, that you and Dr. Watson go to the desert site alone?" His voice dripped like honey but there was venom underling it.

Sherlock blushed- violently. However whether it was embarrassment or anger John couldn't tell. The boy's face had nearly turned purple and he sputtered. The sight was quite satisfying.

"Are you gentlemen quite sure? There won't be any accommodations at the site. You'll have to sleep in either tents or the caves..." Lestrade had left his office to see what all the commotion was about.

"Yes, I do believe I am acquainted enough with archeological digs to understand that fact my good man."

It was now Lestrade's turn to flush at the condescending words of the oldest Holmes brother. John was slowly realizing that both of the Holmeses were arseholes, they just had different ways of expressing their distain for the rest of humanity.

"Apologizes, I never meant to imply that. Just, you may not enjoy your stay. Cairo would be better suited-I mean, able to accommodate you." Lestrade's words ended in a jumbled mess.

"While I do understand your meaning Mr. Lestrade, I still believe that Sherlock and I will be joining Dr. Watson on his tour of Abdju, that's if he'll have us?" Mycroft turned his smile to John. The retired army Captain refused to take the bait.

"I would be honoured if you accompanied me." John didn't mean a single word he said. It was obvious that Mycroft also didn't believe a word of it, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Well, now that that's settled. We'll be needing to make arrangements. Mr. Lestrade, if you would be so kind-?"

Lestrade nodded.

* * *

 

"Would you  _please_  shut the hell up?" John had been trying to examine a text for the last hour but whenever he started to decipher the hieroglyphics Sherlock would ask another question or make another observation. Or state that something had been categorized incorrectly. It was driving John insane.

"Why do you know Arabic?"

"Why do you think?" John looked up from his book. His glasses were hanging off the tip of his noses and he eyed Sherlock over them. "Holmes, I live in Cairo, it is only natural that I speak the language."

John didn't call the boy 'Holmes' because he respected him or because he was the son of his employer. No, the reason John refused to use Sherlock Holmes by his first name was because it showed a degree of intimacy that they did  _not_ share.

"Many soldiers in the army don't speak a word of Arabic and yet you have almost a native fluency. Why?"

"So I could keep my employer's son from making himself a complete idiot and getting himself killed." John looked back down at his book.

"I am  _not_ an idiot!" Sherlock pursed his lips and John was reminded of a sulking child.

"Fine, you want to know? I figured if I'm never going back to England than I better learn the native language of my new home." John's insides turned. He had never told anyone that; even when Molly had questioned him.  _Why am I telling him this?_

"Is it because of your father's drinking problem?" Sherlock's voice was quiet but John felt like he had just be slapped in the face.

"Say that again?" John's hands formed tight fists in his lap.

"Your father. He's an alcoholic. It could be gambling but then you wouldn't be sending all your money back to England. You send money home to support your family because you hope your father will seek help. You want help for him and you know it can't come from you. Even after you were shot, you refused to return home. Shot in the left shoulder, right? So you stayed here. You're a doctor, however it was hard to find work with the tremor that you sometimes experience in your left hand..."

Sherlock continued to talk and with ever word that passed from his mouth, John felt the vein in his forehead popping.  _Has he been stalking me? Not even Mike knows that! I've never told anyone that!_ But just like before, John felt a creeping sensation of...wonder? Awe? Could Sherlock read him so easily just like he had read the headpiece? How?

"Captain?"

John blinked, realizing that he had been lost in his own thoughts.

Sherlock was staring at him expectantly.  _For what?_ John remembered the words of praise he had showered on the boy the other day.  _He wants me to be impressed._ The thought caused something warm in John's stomach to tighten.

"How do you do that? See all this?" Quickly John added, "That was brilliant."

"I observed, Captain. I take the time to see what other chose to ignore. This is why I need to go to Abgju! I need field experience. No one will take me seriously and it is maddening." Sherlock tentatively looked at John. He picked up a pencil and began to examine it.

A biting comment danced on the tip of John's tongue. With every bit of willpower he had, John held it back. He wasn't sure what was happening between them but John was curious to see how it would develop. "I understand. Military and Archeologist don't usually mix. I suppose this is an opportunity for both of us."

Sherlock nodded. "Did I get it all right?"

"Um?"

"What I said, did I make any mistakes?"

For a moment, John had thought that Sherlock was asking about social rules. John let out a small chuckle at the thought.

"What?" Sherlock took his eyes off the pencil and narrowed them at John.

John let out another chuckle. "Only one."

"Well?" Sherlock stared at him unblinkingly.

John's eyes danced with mischief. "My sister drinks too."

Sherlock let out a strangled sound and buried his face in his arms on the table. "It's always something!" The lamentation was muffled by his arms.

John started to laugh even harder.


	3. Dune 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Webley revolver was the standard issue gun for British military from 1887 to 1963.  
> There was a stream ship called the ‘Sudan’ but I took liberties when describing it. 
> 
> ‘The Secret Adversary’ is a real novel by Agatha Christie

The next two days passed quietly.

Lestrade and Mycroft were busy making plans for the trip. Even with the Holmes' money and influence it would still take about a week to make all the needed arrangements. Sherlock was surprisingly absent. John sighed in relief when he could go back to examining artifacts and translating in peace.

John tried not to show it but he was practically a ball of frantic energy. He was so excited at the possibilities of what the mummies could hold and passing the time with only books was a sorry substitute.

The hair on the back of John's neck stuck up. He was being watched. Supposing it was Mike or Molly, John turned with a smile. "Um?"

John's eyes widened at the sight of Sherlock. "What do you want?"

"Kayfa ḥālak. (How are you?)" Sherlock walked into the room like he owned it. He sat on the stool across from John.

"Al-Hamdulillāh. (Fine, thank God)" John couldn't keep the surprise from his face. Then irritation quickly replaced it. "If you speak Arabic, why did you make that scene at the market? I have to live here you know."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do not be dull, Captain. I didn't speak Arabic then."

In Arabic, Sherlock the proceeded to tell John how he had spent the last two days learning the language. "It is more difficult than I first calculated and therefore I have deduced that I will be fluent by the end of the week."

He wanted to yell. Accuse Sherlock of being a liar. People do not learn  _conversational_ Arabic in the span of two days. John opened his mouth to accuse Sherlock when he caught sight of the purple bags under the young man's eyes. John looked harder, and saw that Sherlock looked drawn- as if he hadn't slept since John had seen him last.

"You really did, didn't you? It took you two days, and it took me a years." John wanted to ask him so many questions but there was only one that stuck out the most. "Why?"

Sherlock readjusted his eyes. "Hmm?"

John sighed. The boy was a walking zombie from sleep deprivation, John knew instinctively that Sherlock would never admit to it though. "Why did you learn Arabic?"

Sherlock's eyebrows bunched up in confusion. It looked as if he hadn't even considered the question. "You know it." He voice was oddly soft.

John licked his lips. Realizing what he was doing, he quickly drew his tongue back into his mouth. He had no idea what to say to the boy sitting across from him. John wasn't sure if he should feel flattered or overwhelmed. "I'm going to make some tea. Do you want any?"

John stood up, the stool scrapping hard against the floor. He didn't bring his eyes back to Sherlock as he left the room. Only later, as John was staring that the kettle like it held all the answers did he realize that Sherlock had never answered his question.

John brought in two cups of tea to find Sherlock asleep. His head was laying on his crossed arms. John snorted affectionately.  _Idiot._ John placed the tea down near Sherlock's head. He had meant to go back to his side of the table, but John found that he wanted to examine the sleeping boy's face.

Asleep, Sherlock's features were less stern but no less sharp. Dark lashes framed the purplish tint under his eyes. There was a softness to his mouth; no longer drawn in a tight line. It really was a cupid bow of deep red and John could see that they were cracking only slightly from the desert air.

His neck was stretched out and it was all milky skin. John's fingers twitched with a desire to glide a touch over it. Releasing a shaky breath, John knew he had been staring much longer than he should have.

John walked back over to his side of the table. He had intended to go back to his work but he found his eyes lingering back to the boy across from him. All John could see was a mess of dark curls and an elegant nose. Lost in his thoughts, John rested his chin on his palm.

* * *

 

Sherlock began to spend most of his time in the library section of the museum. Molly skittered around the brooding boy who had taken up residence in her domain. She occasionally blushed when Sherlock wasn't looking and whether or not Sherlock noticed he chose to ignore it.

Sometimes Sherlock would come banging into John's office to demand an answer as to why the library lacked a certain book or just complain in general. John tried to take it in stride, but by the time the brat left, John was usually silently counting to ten to try and calm his temper.

For his part, Mike tried to stay the neutral party who would listen to John rant and make Molly tea when it looked like she was close to crying. The end of the week couldn't come quick enough.

John didn't even bother trying to hid any of the relief that he felt when Lestrade walked into his office at the end of the week. The curator let out a laugh at the relieved face that John made. "Oh, god. Please tell me you're here with good news."

Lestrade didn't even try and keep the knowing smile off his face. He had spent a week with a Holmes brother too. "Yes, thank god. We leave tomorrow."

"We?"

"I expressed a desire to accompany you and Mr. Holmes agreed." Lestrade said. "You're not the only one who needs a little adventure in their life."

* * *

 

John finished packing. He stared at the Webley revolver laying on top of his clothes. Although he cleaned it regularly, it had been more than a year since he had carried it on his person. While it was true that he felt more comfortable with it, the Webley reminded him of his time in the army. John sighed. The metal of the revolver was cool against his skin and John was transported to days and nights spent in constant fear.

A dull pain started to pulse in John's bad shoulder. He brought his hand up to rub at the offending scarred skin. John hoped he wouldn't need the revolver but looters were a real threat. Best to have it. He placed it in the holster near his right hip.

* * *

 

The steam ship was called the 'Sudan' and John wasn't the lest surprised to see how decadent it was. Maybe they wouldn't be sleeping in caves after all. It would take about three days to reach the site by ship and John made a promise to himself to enjoy the posh arrangements while he could.

Mycroft bowed his head when he caught sight of John. "My dear Dr. Watson, how nice to see you again. I do hope my brother hasn't been too trying in my absence."

John couldn't place why the comment irritated him. It was the truth, Sherlock was a nuisance, but the way that Mycroft talked about his own brother made John bristle and want to defend the man. "Quite the opposite. Holmes is a very bright boy who knows his archeology and ancient Egyptian well. In fact, he's now fluent in Arabic."

Mycroft smirked. "I'm pleased to know that."

He looked anything but. However John knew when to drop a conversation, so he gave a tight bow to Mycroft before going back to his business. Lestrade caught his eye and cocked his eyebrows in a silent question. John shrugged too tired to explain.

With the help of servants, the luggage was aboard in a matter of hours. John stood at the railing as the Sudan started to move south down the Nile. The city dissolved into the distance and John took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The sound of the steam engines were soothing and John tried to block out everything out other than the sound of them and the waves. The stream stack released a whistle of steam.

John made his way down to his cabin. It was small but comfortable. There was a water pitcher and basin for his washing and a plush reading chair next to his bed. The Sudan was equipped with electric lights and John knew Mycroft had spared no expense.

Flopping down onto this bed, John closed his eyes and waited for someone to knock on his door and tell him lunch was ready.

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, John was up on the decking reading. It was uncommon for him to read fiction but he had been wanting to finish his novel for sometime. John heard a snort of contempt from above his head. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. "What? Not a fan of Agatha Christie?"

"Her stories are shockingly common and lack any thought."

Sherlock's bored tone grated on John's nerves. "Well, us 'common' folk enjoy a good mystery every once and awhile. By the way, have you even  _read_ one of her books?

Sherlock sniffed. "Why would I bother? I read a book of fiction once and found it to be appalling."

"You made an assumption? That's not very scientific of you." It took all of John's willpower from a smirk creeping onto his face.

"I never assume. It was a logical conclusion." Despite Sherlock's confident tone, there was a hint of distress. "If plebeian hordes enjoy it, that why would I? Mycroft never reads."

"Do you follow your brother's example?"

"No!"

"Then pull up a chair." John had no idea what he was proposing. Suddenly he had an overwhelming urge for company, even if it was from Sherlock.

The boy hesitated for a moment before pulling up another deck chair. He sat down at John's left side. "It's only because there's nothing else to do on this wretched ship. Mycroft refused to let me experiment and I have already finished translating the texts I brought with me."

John was tempted to ask about the experiments but decided to save it for another time. "Have you ever heard of 'The Secret Adversary'?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Well, I only brought one book with me. I suppose I could read it to you." John tried not to flinch as he spoke the words. There was no way Sherlock could sit still, let alone stay quiet long enough for John to read him a novelette.

"I see that you've already started reading. There is no need for you to start at the beginning." Sherlock crossed his arms and stared out at the Nile.

John sighed.  _Is there any way for him to sound like he's not ordering me around?_ Clearing his throat, John began to read, "Tuppence turned sharply..."

* * *

 

John had had a whisky one too many. Still it felt good to be pleasantly drunk cruising along on the Nile. Mycroft's whisky had been top grade and he knew when to take advantage of a situation. John wasn't sure if it was the Sudan rocking or his head. The night air was brisk and the stars bright.

The others had gone to bed and John had wandered up to the bridge to clear his head before going to sleep himself. He stayed away from the railing, not wishing to become a late night snack for the crocodiles.

His head lolled from side to side. John hummed a popular tune and took another sip of water. It was thick in his throat and he fished the ice cube out of the glass. The ice dissolved on his tongue and John sighed in pleasure.

After one more look out across the dark reeds covering the riverbank, John made his way down to his cabin. The ship lurched and John stubbled down the last step. He banged against the wall and giggled.

He swayed along with the ship as he made his way down the hallway. The hallway was dark with only a few of the lamps still lit. John squinted in the darkness; someone was ahead of him.

"Hello? Who's there?" John whispered.

Without warning there were hands on his shoulder pinning his against the wall. Before John could raise a protest, lips covered his. John's arms flung out seeking support. His fingers curled around small hips.

They were definitely not female.

The man was kissing John with a wild intensity. Lips pressed hard and sought out more of John. Teeth began to nibble at John's lower lip and he opened to allow a tongue to slip in. Everything was hot and wet and it overwhelmed all of his senses.

At first, John let the other person assault his mouth. Once he had recovered some of his wits, John began to return the kiss. John's hands left the stranger's hips to press against a warm back.

His hands traced along shoulder blades. Heat began to pool in his abdomen and John groaned into the man's mouth. This seemed to please the other man as he hummed in answer. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and every coherent thought that John tried to grasp escaped him.

John pressed his hips against the other man. The warmth there was delicious and John knew the wasn't the only one becoming hard. John's hips bucked forward and the taller man growled.

Slowly John worked his way up into a mess of curls. His finger tugged at the soft hairs and John shivered. Tongued continued to taste each other and all he wanted was more. Then a thought finally attached to John's mind. _Curls. Soft curls, just like Sherlock's._

_Sherlock._

John's body stiffed. He pulled away enough to breath out one word, "Sherlock?"

The stranger brought his mouth away was a small gasp. Before John could open his eyes, the mysterious man was gone. The sound of a door closing echoed so loudly it might have well been slammed. John slide down the wall to stunned to support his own weight.

_What the bloody hell._


	4. Dune 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I only know the rough outline of this story and I will be adding many more characters from the show. Just know that I will not kill these four, however all other characters are fair game.  
> P.S. John is dressed mostly like Rick in the Mummy with minus the shoulder slings for guns. John has his revolver on his hip.

  
John groaned as another wave of nausea crashed over him.  _I definitely drank too much._ He was hot and sweaty and the water basin was already filled with sick. That with the combination of what he and Sherlock had done the night before was enough to make John wish that there was quicksand he could dive into and be swallowed up by.

He had made two mistakes other than getting smashed on high grade whiskey. One, John had allowed someone to attach their lips to his with no struggle. Two, he had called 'Holmes' Sherlock instead. John released another low groan at the thought.  _Why, why did I call him that? Maybe more importantly why did I let him keep kissing me? Even after realizing it was him, I hadn't wanted him to stop._

John had known it was the brat from the very beginning, who else could it have been? Still John had let his hormones take reign and had tried to ignore the fact but he had still said Sherlock's name- it had just tumbled from his mouth.

John cringed at the thought of Mycroft giving him a speech. Maybe Sherlock would say he had attacked him? Every second that passed, John thought of a more embarrassing and disastrous fiasco than the next.  _Nothing good is going to happen because of this._

Finally the sleep that had been alluding before engulfed him and John drifted back into a fitful sleep.

* * *

 

John stumbled out of his cabin and made his way up to the deck. He shielded his eyes from the bright sun but the fresh air was a welcome relief from the staleness of his room. However his optimism was cut short when he caught sight of Sherlock.

John had done a lot of thinking and reaching the conclusion that he was the older one, it therefore fell on him to take control of the situation. Still it didn't mean that it had to be done with kit gloves...or that he had to enjoy the prospect.

"Holmes-"

Sherlock flinched at the word. "Don't." He was staring out over the railing. Sherlock's face was tight and he obviously wanted to have the conversation even less that John did, but it had to be said.

"You can't go about kissing people in dark hallways. It's not very safe." That wasn't what he had planned to say at all. With Sherlock in front of him, John found that the words would not come as easily as they did when he had been in his cabin alone rehearsing them.  _We can't do this. I can't do this. This is bad. So bad and my bones hurt from the want of it._

"I thought you were someone else." Sherlock continued to stare out at an unfixed point. John knew it was a lie, who else could Sherlock had though he was pressing up against the wall and snogging senseless?

Before he could stop it, John snorted.

Suddenly Sherlock turned around. His eyes were manic looking and John heard a small gasp escape his mouth. Sherlock's face turned hard and his knuckles were taunt gripping onto the railing.

"Disgusting, wasn't it?! Who did you think I was _Captain_?" Sherlock spat out the title. "I won't tell anyone if that's what your worried about. Tell anyone that you kissed the  _freak."_

John gapped at the out torrent of hate. He wanted to scream that it was nothing like that. A freak? Sherlock could be a handful but John would never call him that. Never. For some reason, his mouth was thick and the words refused to form on his lips. They stared at each other, Sherlock's eyes flaring and John even paler than he had been before.

Sherlock's face twisted up and then he dashed pass John to the door that lead to the cabins. John didn't even try to call after him.

* * *

 

Hours later John was still up on the deck trying to put it all together. What had that all been about? John shook his head disparagingly and took another sip of his tea.  _There are more important things for me to be spending my energy on._ However, in that moment, everything else didn't really seem to matter. Especially whenever John closed his eyes- all he could see was the hurt that had covered Sherlock's face and it pained him.

John's ears perked up at the sound of a door closing. Thinking it was Sherlock, John turned his head, determined to explain what had happened early. "Holmes, I-"

Instead of Sherlock it was his older brother. John hadn't seen him on deck once the entire trip and was shocked to see him. He had his normal full suit and a wide hat and for some odd reason his umbrella.

"I regret to disappoint you."

John's mouth tighten in a thin line. He knew Mycroft had more to say.

"I see that you and my baby brother are spending time together." Mycroft began to exam the hand that was holding his umbrella. "I'm worried that he might do something rash at the dig. I would like to request that you keep an eye on him."

John's eyebrows bunched up. "You mean, babysit?"

"In so many words. Naturally I will pay you above your usually salary for your services. And if there is any information you might feel that I need to know, please share."

"You mean babysit and eavesdrop?" John stood up.

"As I said Dr. Watson, in so many words." Mycroft swung his umbrella, it ticked back and forth like a pendulum. "I worry, constantly."

"I must respectfully decline."

"I will respect your decision. However if you chose to change your mind..." Mycroft's smile was tight.

"I won't." With a quick bow, John sat back down.

After another beat, John heard the door close. John released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.  _Great god, what have I got myself tangled into?_

* * *

 

 

The rest of the trip went without incident. Both of the Holmes brothers were oddly absent and John relished the quiet time he was able to spend with Lestrade. They spent their time together playing chess and discussing what the tombs could hold.

As they docked, John finished repacking his things. He threw the novelette onto his folded clothes.  _We never finished reading it._ John frowned as he closed his suitcase harder than necessary.

John had replaced his suit with the proper excavating gear. John had a shoulder satchel with his tools, flask and other bric-a-brac, including his glasses. He wore a plain beige shirt and a red kerchief around his neck, along with dark brown trousers and knee high boots. After donning the last of his outfit, excitement began to pump harder through John's veins.  _It's finally time!_

He made his way out onto the deck. It was a flurry of activity as they finished docking along the riverbank. John caught sight of Lestrade and waved him over. Lestrade made his way through the servants.

"Excited?" It was an obvious question but John wanted to ask it anyway.

"Is it showing?" Lestrade smiled wide, so that two rows of pearl white teeth shone.

"They can't move fast enough."  _I don't ever want to board this ship again._ Every time he walked down the hallway, John was reminded of the kiss he had shared with Sherlock. John hated the way it made his cheeks flush and his stomach turn. Whether that turning was good or not, he still hadn't figured out.

The Holmes brothers soon joined them on deck. John kept his eyes averted and Sherlock offered no word of greeting.

"Ah, Lestrade nice to see you this morning." Mycroft smiled at the curator.

 _Interesting._ John suddenly remembered that he hadn't seen much of Lestrade at the beginning of the journey. Maybe the two men had been spending time together.  _I'm definitely going to have to ask Lestrade about this._ Despite the awkwardness of it all, John felt a smile tugging at his lips.

Together they made their descent from the Sudan. John fought down the urge to run ahead of them all.

"Lestrade and I shall stay behind and supervise the workers. You two can run off and dig." Mycroft looked down at the sand as it was a personal insult to him.

John looked back at Lestrade. The curator offered him a weak smile. John was tempted to say something in Lestrade's defense but he knew it was better just to let it go. It was selfish but he didn't feel like being 'grounded' from visiting the site.

"Do watch after him." Mycroft said as he and Lestrade turned back to the ship.

Sherlock frowned and without a single word to any of them, made his way towards the site. John looked between the retreating figures on both sides. He released a sigh and curse before he ran after Sherlock.

John kept a few paces behind him as they walked. Feeling solid earth under his feet was fantastic, John just wished the gentle swaying would stop. The sun was unbearably hot and sweat had already began to form on his brow and lower lip. John licked at the saltiness.

 _This is never going to work._ He and Sherlock couldn't spend the entire time ignoring each other. He wanted to hit the brat at times but he really was a bright lad. If the rest of his family was anything like Mycroft than it was no wonder Sherlock grew up so emotionally stunted. Hell, even he would have.

John let out a long sigh as he ran forward to cross the distance between him and the younger Holmes brother.

"Holmes." It was only after John had said the boy's name that he had no idea what to say. "About what happened earlier..."

Sherlock turned to him, eyes blazing. "I thought we had already discussed this, Captain."

John's eyes narrowed.  _I will not hit him. Patience, John._ He wanted to talk about the kiss instead he said, "You're not a freak."

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and turned sharply to John. "What?"

"Holmes, you're many things but you're not a freak. A bit of a pain but never a freak." John didn't know why but it was suddenly very important that Sherlock understood that fact. Understood that, even though John did have issues with his attitude, that he would never call him such a heartless name.

"I don't know what to say." Sherlock's face looked pained and John knew that the boy was really at lost as to what to do.

John extended his hand. "Let's put this behind us. I want us to be...friends." He was offering a peace treaty and he hoped that Sherlock would take it.

"I don't have friends." Sherlock stared down at the hand in confusion.

Something lurched in John's chest. Sherlock was genuinely confused and it made John wonder the life that the boy must have lead to never have a single friend.  _Maybe it's not that confusing. Listen to me! I'm just like everyone else._ Appalled at his thoughts, John started to lower his hand.

Sherlock leaped forward and grasped onto John's hand before he could finish lower it to his side.

"Sadeke? (Friends?)" Both of Sherlock's larger hands enveloped John's and he was reminded once again how smooth the boy's skin was.

"Aiwa. (Yes)." John smiled and placed his other hand on their linked hands.

Sherlock's smile was small and soon it extended to his eyes. They crinkled at the sides and it made John smile only wider.

* * *

 

The site at Abdju was eerily quiet. John knew that most of the workers were inside categorizing all the artifacts for inspection. A man walked out of the temple and waved at them. John raised his hand to wave in answer.

"Gentlemen, greetings." He had a wide smile and John liked him instantly. "I'm the head of the diggers. My name is Robert Abo-Samra. Please call me Samra. I trust you are the Holmes brothers?"

John cringed. Sherlock cleared his throat. "Do we look related?"

Samra let out a hearty laugh. "No, I don't suppose you do."

"My name is John Watson, retired military doctor." John extended his hand and wasn't surprised that Samra had a firm grip. When John took his hand away it was covered in dust.

"I am Sherlock Holmes." They shook hands quickly.

"So, where are the mummies?" John smiled.

"Just inside, here let me show you."

They made their way into the Temple of Seti I. The halls were dark and the occasional torch lit up the darkness. John's heart was pounding in his ribcage like a frantic bird. Sherlock's eyes darted at John and Sherlock's lip hitched up for a moment in a smirk. John wasn't the only one enjoying himself.

The hallway opened up into the main chamber. There were a few workers still categorizing and for some reason this made Sherlock stop. "What are they doing?" Sherlock sounded confused.

"Labeling all the artifacts, Mr. Holmes." Samra sounded just as confused as he answered the question.

"Make them stop!" Sherlock flung his arms up.

"What?"

"Make them stop now! They shouldn't be moving anything!" Sherlock's voice cracked.

"But we always categorize..." Samra stumbled over the words.

"Khalass! Khalass! (Stop!)" John raised his hands and shouted.

All the workers stopped and stared at him in obvious confusion. John turned his attention to Samra. "I'm sorry. Can you have all of them stop what they're doing? Um, Holmes prefers that he does all the of this personally." John didn't know if it was true or not but something told him he was right.

"Yes, yes." Sherlock's cheeks were flushed red and he let out a shaky breath.

Samra looked between them. "It is yours to do with as you wish." He offered them a bow and clapped once. He said something to the workers, who then all filed out of the chamber.

John clasped his hand on Sherlock's shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine now, John." Sherlock nodded his head once before making his way towards the mummies.

John didn't try and think about how nice his name had sounded coming from Sherlock when it wasn't spoken bitingly.


	5. Dune 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I will try and keep this about 70% true. When it comes to the location of some of the mummies and other things I will stretch the truth. But the relationship of all the Egyptian gods and other things will be true (although I might make mistakes on accident). There will be magic in this too. Reincarnation and that sort of jazz. 
> 
> Ful Medames is a national dish consisting of fava beans with olive oil, chopped parsley, onion, garlic and lemon juice.  
> khemu-sek is the constellation that dead kings join.  
> Neb Ankh (possessor of life) ancient word for coffin or sarcophagus.  
> Mycroft is dressed like Mr. Brody in the Last Crusade. Especially the hat.

"Complete and utter imbeciles." Sherlock continued to mutter under his breath as he circled the mummies. There were three in total and already laid out, removed from their neb ankh.

John had to agree, he didn't like the idea of the workers touching the mummies or artifacts any more than Sherlock did. He opened his shoulder satchel and took out his tools to start unwrapping the mummies.

Sherlock crouched down and began to read the hieroglyphics. "Captain, come over here."

John crouched down to join Sherlock. The boy pointed and said, "Look what this says! Look!"

He had to squint in the weak light and when he still couldn't make it out, John pulled out his glasses. Sherlock made an impatient sound. It took only a moment to understand what had him so excited. "Hunefer...I don't believe it."

"I has to be! It's written all over." Sherlock stood back up. "One of these mummies was the scribe to Seti I. Oh, this is fantastic!"

"Why?" While John did understand that discovering a scribe to a pharaoh was important, Sherlock was still acting more excited than John would have expected. He stood back up and began to survey one of the mummies.

"Don't you see?"

"Hum?" John popped his head back up. He really didn't and he really didn't care for Sherlock to sit there and flaunt his  _massive intellect_.

"How is it in your funny little head? How boring it must be." Sherlock eyed him with slight disgust.

"Holmes." John was quickly running out of patience.

"Hunefer, he had a copy of the Book of the Dead." Sherlock gestured wildly around the chamber.

"Everyone was buried with one..." There were better artifacts to be interested in than just a few rolls of papyrus.

"He was unique, Captain. His book would therefore be different than others like it."

"Why?"

"Um?" Sherlock was already thinking about something else.

"Why is it special?" John's fingers rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

"Ah, yes. Because it is." Sherlock sounded very sure of himself.

John let the subject drop and continued with his own work.

Sherlock wandered off and his mutters got louder as he saw just how much the workers had moved everything around. "I can't find them!"

"They might have already been categorized and packed up to move to the Sudan." John pointed to some wooden boxes.

Sherlock roared as he made his way over to them and proceeded to tear them apart.

* * *

"Sherlock, what did you do?"

John's head popped up at the sound of Mycroft's bored voice.

Sherlock barely let another second pass before he was yelling at his brother for letting 'those imbeciles' touch everything before he had had the chance too. Mycroft shook his head occasionally as his eyes wandered.

"Mycroft, I can't find that book. I need that book!"

Mycroft waved an impatient hand. "Yes, yes. I'll discuss the matter with Samra. Now, I'm more interested in the artifacts that  _have_  been found."

Mycroft and Lestrade walked past Sherlock and to the boxes the younger Holmes brother had opened; scattering the items everywhere. Sherlock sulked back over to John.

"May I start taking off the bandages?" John could barely keep his childish glee from over pouring in his voice.

"Yes, fine." Sherlock crossed his arms and waited for John to start.

Within ten minutes, he had the first layers of bandages off. Something was scrapping at John's mind but he couldn't place a finger on it. So ignoring the feeling, John continued with his delicate work.

Another layer was removed and Sherlock gasped at what was revealed. It was all wrong. The mummy's face was twisted in a look of absolute horror. Its mouth was hanging open and John knew that this mummy was different. With every other mummy he had ever seen, it had had a peaceful look on its face, contentment almost. This one looked as if he had been alive when they had wrapped him up.  _Been alive..._

"Oh, this is different." Sherlock exclaimed as he bent down lower to get a better look. "It looks as if he was alive when..."

Sherlock continued with his observations but John blanked him out. He went on with his own examination of the mummy's face and he tried to place the main reason that it was so unsettling in his mind. While it was true that the twisted face was the most obvious difference, there was something else...

"Holmes, he's been murdered."

Sherlock's eyes darted over to John. "That's rather obvious, isn't it?"

John tried not to roll his eyes.  _Patience._ Because if he was right, he had seen it before Sherlock had. John smiled wickedly.

"Holmes, he's been murdered...in the last month."

Sherlock's head darted up. "What do you mean?"

"Look." John used his tools to point at the mummy's face. There were signs of decomposition that didn't fit with how a person was usually wrapped. Parts of the flesh looked too fresh and there was an odd chemical smell that John had never smelt at a dig before. It was all wrong and none of it seemed to make any sense, unless they were recently wrapped.

Sherlock's eyes were sparkling when he lifted his head back up after John's explanation. "Captain," His cheeks were flushed and John began to feel uncomfortable under the intense gaze.

"What's going on?" Lestrade asked from behind them.

The two men jumped, not having noticed the curator sneaking up on them. John turned around and began to explain again to Lestrade. He let out a long whistle. "Wonder who he is?"

John shrugged. "No idea. I've never heard of anything like this."

"We should talk to Samra. Find out if any workers have gone missing." Lestrade said.

John nodded in agreement. It was the best place to start. But who would make a makeshift mummy out of an Egyptian worker? Why take the time? Go through all the presentation? Plus did any of the workers have the knowledge to do anything like this? John would bet not.

"Have there been any other excavation parties here?" If it was anybody, John's money was on an archeologist or at least someone with extensive knowledge in mummification. It hadn't been done well, but well enough. Still, there was the nagging question of 'why?'.

Mycroft made his way to the others. He looked down at the corpse in contempt. "This is certainly shaping up to be an adventure."

"We should call the authorities." Lestrade sounded resolute.

"No!" Sherlock yelled out. "Do you really want more people in there, trampling all over everything? The Book of the Dead is already missing, do you more items to be stolen?"

"He's already dead. Might as well conduct our own investigation first." John couldn't believe he was agreeing with Sherlock.

John tried to ignore the excitement over the mysterious murder. There were so many unanswered questions and unearthing everything was going to be anything but boring. John's mouth twitched up into a smile. He caught Sherlock's eyes and the next moment, laughter was trying to break out of John.

Sherlock smiled wider and a laugh erupted out of him. John's defenses crumbled and he let out a snort of laughter, which then became a giggle. He quickly bottled it up again when he saw the worried look Lestrade was giving him.

* * *

"Sir, there was a worker who left a month ago but he went home to be with his family." They had called Samra back into the chamber and were questioning him about the mysterious corpse. "Are you telling me...?" Samra stared at the mummy in horror.

Sherlock continued his questioning. "Was there any odd behaviour? Rumors?"

Samra thought for a moment before answering. "No, if anything sir, this dig has been oddly ordinary."

John had unwrapped the other two mummies and both of them were real. John frowned as he continued to examine the mummy that was a fake or at least not 3,000 years old. Once he had removed some more bandages, John saw that he had probably suffocated to death.

"Well, he wasn't murdered here. The body was taken here by, one person and then laid out. The real mummy was taken away because there are three coffins, so there had to have been originally three mummies. They could have wanted the mummy for the black market and so committed a murder..." Sherlock continued under his breath.

John found himself nodding unconsciously to Sherlock's words. Much of what he was saying made sense. There was no way that a mummy had been added without one being taken away. Suddenly, the blood in John's veins grew cold. "Holmes, I think they took Hunefer."

"Yes, yes. They moved the mummies and the adornments. The took the Book and Hunefer, but why?" Sherlock steppled his hands and stared out unseeing.

Mycroft pursed his lips. "As much as you'd like to play detective, we do need to call the proper authorities."

John opened his mouth to complain and then promptly shut it.  _We have to call the police, why am I doing this?_ For some reason, he wanted to keep it a secret. He wanted to what...? Solve it? Find the mummy? John smiled weakly. Maybe he had been reading too many murder mysteries; if he fancied himself to be a Miss Marple...maybe Poirot would be better.

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. Follow the  _rules,_ Mycroft. You always were a slave to them."

"Samra, if you would be so kind, board the Sudan and tell them to send a telegram about the murder." Mycroft tapped his umbrella.

* * *

It had been hours but they still had made little progress on the murder. After Sherlock had yelled at him for 'getting in the way', John had walked over to Lestrade and helped him repackage and correctly categorize all the other artifacts.

Lestrade yawned and John quickly did the same. He checked his watch and it was well into the evening. John stood up and moved his neck from side to side. Rubbing at the nape of his neck, John asked, "Ready for dinner?"

Lestrade stood up and stretched. "I would be delighted."

"Holmes, we're going to call it an evening." John called out.

Sherlock yelled out. "Not hungry." And he went back to whatever he was doing.

John sighed. He was not in the mood to care what the brat did, John refused to be his babysitter. So he and Lestrade left him alone in the chamber.

Outside the desert air was cool and John took a deep breath. He and Lestrade made their way to the tents. It was amazing how much they had already constructed in one day. Mycroft was no were to be seen but John wasn't surprised. They ate ful medames and John went back for seconds. "I still can't believe it." John munched on a mouth full of fave beans. Lestrade nodded. It was almost impossible to believe.

"The police will arrive soon and that will be the end of it. I just hope they don't make a mess out of everything." He had seen the way the Egyptian police worked and it could leave a lot to be desired. Then again, he had seen little better in India or Britain.

Lestrade took a drink of tea. "At any rate, this promises to be even more interesting than I had first anticipated."

John nodded. "It certainly does. I just hope we can find the missing mummy and the Book."

"I'm sure we will. Mr. Holmes is on the case, remember?"

"Yeah." John rolled his eyes.

They ate in silence for awhile longer. Just enjoying the peacefulness and the tranquility of the night. After living in Cairo for so long, John had forgotten just how quiet the world could be. He stared up at the stars. It was a clear night and John mentally ticked off some of the constellations.  _Ikhemu-sek. Thuban._

"I'm going to call it a night." Lestrade stood up and gave another yawn. "I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Night."

John release a long sigh.  _How much longer is he going to stay there? Isn't he hungry?_ John thought back and realized that he hadn't seen Sherlock eat much. Not while they were in Cairo but he had assumed he had been eating at the hotel. On the Sudan, Sherlock had been there for the meals, but he had usually just pushed the food around on the plate.

 _Maybe I could..._ John's hands tightened in his lap.  _I am not his keeper._ A small voice in his mind reminded him,  _You are his friend._

John stood up and made his way to his tent.


	6. Dune 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Shakshouka is onions, tomatoes and eggs. yum!
> 
> neb ankh means coffin

Light filtered into his tent and John stretched; wiping the sleep out of his eyes. After a few moments of staring up at the top of his tent, John checked his watch. It was 6am and he let out a low groan.  _Urg, will I ever be able to sleep in._ His body had gotten used to waking up at the crack of dawn in the military and it seemed as if that was the way it was always going to be.

He washed his face and ran a hand over his two day stubble. John eyed his razor and then realized he really didn't care. With one quick tug of his comb through his hair, John changed out of his pajamas.  _I hope there's something to eat._ John's stomach grumbled and coffee along with some solid food sounded heavenly.

John was glad to find that indeed the kettle was already brewing and breakfast ready to serve. Mycroft really did know how to run a dig. Although John wondered if he was being spoiled. John shrugged his shoulders.  _Never look a gift horse..._

The air was crisp and the shakshouka was delicious. With a smile, John took another sip of coffee. Other than the servants, he was the only one up and the vastness of the desert before him made John oddly reflective for the morning. John asked one of the servants to make another dish for him. He finished his coffee and retrieved his flask that had been refilled for the new day. After brushing his teeth, John made his way back to the temple.

He wasn't sure what he would find there. The workers not returned and not a sound was coming from the chamber.  _Thank god, he did leave._ John licked his lips and his shoulders shagged. He had been worried that Sherlock had never left the temple and had brought him breakfast.  _Why am I so worried about him?_

The silence was broken when John heard to soft sound; it was snoring. A smile creeped onto his lips and John looked behind all of the ned ankhs for the sleeping boy. Sure enough, John found him leaning up against the last one. His mouth was open slightly and he was holding a pencil; posed to write on a piece of paper that had fallen from his lap some time during the night.

John crouched down beside him and put the plate of food on the floor. John licked his lips again and his eyes roamed over the sleeping form of Sherlock. Just like before, his features were relaxed in sleep and John wondered how many times the boy worked himself to exhaustion.  _He can't do this in the desert. Not eat, not drink. Maybe staying in his posh mansion he's safe but not out here with the elements._

John bit back a curse.  _Well, if I'm going to worry about him, I'm going to do it according to my rules. Not because Mr. Holmes asked me to, I want too._ John wasn't sure what it was about the younger Holmes brother that was bringing out his protective side.

Sherlock's hair was ruffled and John wondered absently how that was even possible when he hadn't slept on a pillow. Maybe he ran his fingers through it? Suddenly, John's stomach swopped at the thought of running his own fingers through it again. He wanted to feel how soft those curls were, how thick and silky the mop of midnight hair was.

Before he could think better of it, John's hand lifted to touch one of Sherlock's curls. He held it between his thumb and index finger; rubbing it between his fingers. John gulped and it was hard in his throat. It just wasn't enough, and the rest of his fingers came down to sweep along the top of his forehead.

Sherlock didn't move and his breathing didn't change. Feeling braver, John's face moved closer so his lips could ghost along Sherlock's hair. The sleeping boy's neck was bent and John ached to run his mouth along the long expanse of milky neck.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that he missed the slight hitch in Sherlock's breath. His head moved into John's touch and he let out a small gasp. John went to pull his hand away and Sherlock breathed out quietly, "Please,"

John's left hand travelled from Sherlock's forehead and down to the nape of his neck. His fingers curled there and John moved his head down so that his lips could trace lightly along that gorgeous neck.

Sherlock hummed and John was reminded of a cat. "Captain," Sherlock's hand came up to grip John's shirt. "Watson."

John's tongue peeked out of his mouth and just the tip traced a small circle on the smooth skin on the side of his neck. Sherlock groaned and the grip he had on John's shirt tightened. John's fingers fanned out and his hand carded up into the soft curls hanging around the back of his neck. Sherlock leaned even farther into the touch and their body heat began to mingle.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

John blinked and pulled his hand and mouth away from Sherlock. They stared at each other for a moment and John's heart lurched.  _Gods, what was I doing?!_ Sherlock's pupils were huge and all he wanted to do was kiss him even more senseless. However they now had company.

He eyed Sherlock for another moment before standing up. "Hello, yes?"

John was stunned to see a young woman standing at the entrance to the inner chamber. She let out a squeak when she saw John and the woman proceeded to turn a lovely shade of red.

"Oh, dear. I seemed to have gone into the wrong temple. I do apologize." She turned to leave.

Panic crept into John and he yelled out, "Stop!"

She turned back to face him with surprise on her face. John let out a nervous chuckle and didn't look back down at Sherlock as he made his way from around the neb ankh and over to the woman. "Might I ask what you're doing here? It's not common to see a mysterious woman in these parts."

She let out a pretty giggle and tilted her head. "I suppose that is true. My name is Mary Morstan. I'm part of the Moriarty archeology party."

* * *

 

John's arm was interlocked with Mary's as they made their way to the correct temple. Mary was a hieroglyphics specialist and was there with three others. While Holmes did have ownership to the Seti I temple, the other parts of Abdju was open to any other people who came to dig.

She was a sweet thing and John found himself laughing easily. Still it was difficult to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.  _What was I thinking? What would I have done if Mary hadn't shown up?_

He had called her Miss Morstan but she had demanded he call her Mary straight way. She had said "I'm no longer in England, I need not abide by her rules". John had smiled and had asked Mary to call him 'John', she had said "I'll call you 'doctor' if you don't mind". John found that he didn't mind at all.

Mary waved when they caught sight of another woman. She was wearing trousers too and John began to wonder how much England had changed since he had last been home. Where Mary was light brown curls and sweet smiles, the other woman had dark brown hair and her features were sharp. She had high cheekbones and John colored when he got close enough to see them clearly.

They shook hands and she introduced herself as Irene Adler. Adler was the main coordinator of the dig. The three of them talked pleasantly for awhile before the two women excused themselves to go back to the temple. John parted and promised to visit them again.

Instead of going back to the temple, John made his way back to the tents. John smiled as he caught sight of Lestrade. He waved and the curator tipped his head up in greeting. John sat down and had another cup of coffee.

"Where have you been wondering around so early in the morning?"

"Just meeting with the other archeological team." John rubbed his chin and realized with horror that he had never shaved.  _Great way to make a first impression._

"Mr. Holmes, mentioned them this morning. I'm sure the younger Holmes isn't going to be happy to hear about even more people messing up his 'crime scene'." Lestrade chuckled.

John bit back a retort, because it really  _was_  a crime scene. A man had been murdered and the whoever had committed the crime was still free. John huffed and took another gulp of thick black coffee.

* * *

 

John waited around till Lestrade was ready to accompany him back to the temple. They circled the area and took a better catalogue of the surrounding parts of the Seti I temple. Some of the workers had trickled back in and John talked with Samra. He didn't really feel comfortable giving the man any orders and luckily Lestrade took control of the situation.

John heard voices and made his way to the south side of the temple. He spotted Sherlock talking to a man that John didn't know. They seemed to be having a heated argument and worried that the other man might attack Sherlock, John made his way over to them.

The man that he didn't know raised his hand in greeting. Sherlock turned around and when their eyes met, John lowered his; shame pooled in his belly for abandoning him earlier.

"You must be Dr. Watson." The man extended a hand and John shook it stiffly.

"Yes, I am. Unfortunately I am not acquitted with who you are, sir."

Something about his small eyes and twisted mouth made John want to shutter. "My name is Professor Jim Moriarty. I was just having a conversation with Sherlock here when your name popped up."

John tried not to think about why his name would come up in a conversation between the two men. Sherlock turned to John with a haughty expression. "Prof. Moriarty was making claims that are farfetched at best. I was attempting to correct his error."

Moriarty let out a laugh. It made a shiver run up John's spine. "Sherlock, Sherlock. I believe that Moran is the one with the expertise needed for this dig. Or is something clouding your judgement?"

Sherlock's eyes turned hard. "If that will be all."

Sherlock turned and started to walk away. John gave Moriarty a nod before following after him. He kept quiet for as long as he could before curiosity got the best of him. "Do you know him?"

"We met at University. He was one of my professors, we had a relationship outside of the classroom. However I found his personality to be boorishly ignorant." Sherlock spit out.

Something clawed at John's insides at the way Moriarty had looked at Sherlock; like a lion stalking its prey and he hadn't liked it one bit. They reminded silent, both lost in thought.  _Relationship? What kind?_ Moriarty was older but no older that John was. He thought of broaching what had happened earlier but decided against it.

Lestrade walked up to them and John plastered a carefree look onto his face. He just wanted to go back to the chamber and continue deciphering the hieroglyphics. All this  _mess_  wasn't what he had travelled down the Nile for.

* * *

 

"Doctor, how pleasant to see you again."

John smiled at the sound of Mary's voice. He had been doing some rubbings of a pillar and put down his paper to face the woman. Sweat was making her fringe cling to her forehead and her cheeks were flushed. John offered her water from his flask.

Mary took a few long gulps before giving it back to John with thanks. "I was wondering if you could help me, there's seems to be a symbol that I just can't translate."

John smiled and put his paper and chalk away. "Sure, I'd be delighted."

"Watson!" Sherlock came running up to him. John had been blocking Mary from view and as soon as John moved so that Sherlock could see her, his face fell.

"What's she doing here?" Sherlock spit out.

"Holmes! Don't speak to Mary in that fashion." John couldn't believe how rude Sherlock was being- even for him.

"Mary!" Sherlock's eyes grew dark. "So she's  _Mary._ " It was barely above a whisper.

Color drained from John's face and wished again all of this drama could just be avoided. Although he had did little not to exacerbate all the misunderstandings. "Yes, this is Mary Morstan."

Mary gave Sherlock a polite nod and smiled. "Pleasure to met you. He's spoken all about you."

Sherlock's cheeks flared and his eyebrows bunched in confusion. Mary let out a small laugh and taped her nose with he finger. "How could he not! How you've been searching for the murderer and your commitment to it. It's very admirable."

"He did?" Sherlock's attention focused on John.

John let out an uncomfortable cough. "Um, yes well-"

"We were about to go examine some hieroglyphics at the other temple. Would you care to join us?" Mary extended her elbow and Sherlock took it.

He seemed shocked at his action and blinked a few times in confusion. Soon a genuine smile replaced the uncertainty that had been on his face. John let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Yes, that would be very agreeable, Miss Morstan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had to write a fic with so much research before and I am totally loving it!
> 
> Thanks for all the fantastic comments!


	7. Dune 7

"I can see why you were having such an issue translating this." John rubbed his chin and stared harder at the hieroglyphics before him.

"Let me see." Sherlock crouched down and pushed his way into John's personal space. John blinked a few times in surprise but didn't move away.

"It could possibly be something about rebirth..." Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he concentrated harder.

"That's plain to see but why are they writing that on a pillar out there and not in the main chamber?" John's eyes shifted over to glance at Sherlock.

The boy let out a long breath and steepled his hands under his chin. It was becoming a recognizable pose and John smirked at the sight of it. Suddenly remembering that they weren't alone, John looked over his shoulder to ask Mary what her opinion on the marks.

He opened his mouth but no words came out. Her smile was wide and her eyes glittered. Mary's eyes darted over to Sherlock for a moment before she raised a eyebrow at him.

A blush warmed John's skin.  _Is it that obvious?_ John offered her a weak smile and nothing else. If she wanted to make assumptions than let her. Oddly he wasn't bothered by it. He turned back to Sherlock and they continued with their translations.

"How's it going, boys?"

Sherlock and John stopped their conversation at the sound of a new voice. John turned to see Adler smiling at the both of them. John nodded once in greeting before standing up and dusting off his hands.

"And who might you be?" She smiled seductively as Sherlock stood up.

"Sherlock Holmes." He didn't offer a hand and Adler didn't seem offended. Instead she smiled even wider at his look of complete distain.

"Sherlock?" She seemed to be trying to hold back a laugh. "I believe Prof. Moriarty has mentioned that name once or twice."

Sherlock rose to the bait. "Oh, really? He has? I'm sure the two of you have lovely stimulating conversations."

Before Sherlock could say anymore, John interrupted him. "Yes, we met with Prof. Moriarty earlier. Tell me, what's he doing here and not a lecture hall in England?"

"It's been a while since he was out in the field and he plans on authoring a new book on reincarnation...so here we are." Adler crossed her arms. She locked eyes with Sherlock, despite the fact that she was answering him and John was surprised to see the boy blush.

"I would wish him good luck but I know he doesn't need any with such fine people at his disposal." Sherlock's words dripped of sarcasm.

Still Adler did not raise to the blatant example of rudeness. John wondered if Sherlock treated all woman with such aloofness. Remembering how he had treated Molly he supposed it was true.  _He must be a riot at all the parties._ John pressed his together to keep a laugh for escaping.

Before Sherlock could say anything else, Lestrade was running up to them. "I'm glad I found you guys." He stopped short. "Greeting." He bowed to the two women. "I thought you were..." Lestrade faltered. He had mistook their genders because of their state of dress. The curator blushed slightly in embarrassment.

After quick introductions. Lestrade told them that the police had arrived and they wanted to talk to them.

"Sorry, Mary. I guess we'll have to finish with the translations later."

"No worries. I think I understand the part that confused me before." She gave him a warm smile.

"Ms Adler."

She smiled at him but her eyes lingered on Sherlock as she said her good-byes. For some reason he was extremely happy that Lestrade had arrived. John hadn't liked the predator way that Adler had been eyeing Sherlock. Would she try anything? John tried to tell himself that that was ridiculous... _Even if his preference is men, there is no denying that she is an extremely attractive woman._

She had a seductive air and John was sure that Adler had tempted many men no matter what their orientation. He keep his eyes straight ahead and did not let them linger over to Sherlock.  _The last thing I need is that bloody git reading my thoughts._

They reached the temple and John squinted his eyes to adjust his vision to the dull light. Samra and Mycroft were already in the chamber along with two people that John didn't recognize.

"Ah, Sherlock, Dr. Watson. So happy you could join us." Mycroft tapped his umbrella and sounded as if he was less than pleased to have been dragged from the Sudan to show the police around a dark and dirty temple.

"Hello, gentlemen. My name is Sally Donovan and this is Anderson."

"Donovan?" John was sure he had heard that name before.  _The American? The Holy Grail?_ He had read about the business man's journey and how he had never been found.

"Yeah, I'm the niece of Walter Donovan."

John raised his eyebrows in surprised and tried to not ask the obvious question. Thankfully she answered it for him. "I'm adopted, if you're wondering."

Sherlock ignored the usually greetings and asked, "What have you done with the body? Why was it moved?"

"We need to take it back to the city to be certified." The man who had been introduced as Anderson said with a hint of superiority in his voice.

_Oh, shit. This is not going to go well._

"I was still running tests on the wrappings to see what had happened to him! I need that body back now!" Sherlock's voice was practically a growl.

Anderson laughed. "Please. What were you doing? Fancy yourself an amateur detective, do you?"

Without another word, Sherlock stomped out of the chamber.

"That could have gone better." John tried to say lightly.

"No, if anything it should have gone worse." Mycroft sighed. "Come along. I'm sure my baby brother has decided it is necessary to steal the mummy off of the police boat."

John bit back a curse.

* * *

The group made their way to the boats. Sure enough Sherlock was engaged in a heated argument with another of the police officers at the boat. John kept his mouth shut. If Sherlock wanted to make a fool of himself and maybe get himself arrested than that was his own choice.

Before Mycroft could say anything, there came a shout from the Sudan. Anderson and Donovan ran off and John trailed behind. It had sounded as if the man had shouted-

"Almaut! Almaut! (Murder!)"

There was no mistaking it, they were yelling murder.  _What did they find on the ship?_

"Wait! You can't go on that boat!" Anderson screamed at Sherlock as the boy went to board the Sudan.

"Why ever not? This is my ship!" Sherlock continued to board. Anderson shot out an arm and grabbed at Sherlock, lurching him back.

"Unhand me!" Sherlock looked furious. He raised his hand to strike the officer and John barely had enough time to grab Sherlock's wrist before he could do something that he was sure to regret.

Sherlock screamed and with one violent movement was out of the grasp of both John and Anderson. He stared at both of them for a moment with a look of complete distain. He turned and stomped away. John let out a shaky breath.  _Damn, that was too close._

"He's a rude one, isn't he?"

Suddenly John had his own urge to deck the officer. Before he could act on his own impulses, he excused himself to follow after Sherlock. For some reason it seemed important that Sherlock knew John had only stopped him from punching Anderson because he didn't want him locked up, not because he didn't think the prick didn't deserve to be punched.

After a few minutes, John found Sherlock sulking. He was staring off out at the bank and turned to face John only to turn away after giving him a look of disgust.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock bit out when John went to stand next to him.

_Calm, John._

"I thought you might like some company." It sounded rather forced even against his own ears.

"I don't need company and I don't need you." Sherlock spat out.

_Okay, he's going to be like that is he. Don't take the bait. Don't take the bait._

"You don't have to act like such an entitled brat."  _Shit, that wasn't exactly what I wanted to say._

Sherlock turned to him. "Thanks, but I don't need your version of 'company' or 'friendship'."

John knew his mouth was hanging open. "That's uncalled for! I was trying to make sure they didn't lock you up! You ungrateful arse!" John tried to ignore how much Sherlock throwing their new friendship in his face hurt.

"Oh, Captain. Not everyone is going to fall on their knees at the privilege to have you as a friend!" Sherlock's eyes turned dark. "I'm sure Mary is falling all over herself to provide you with _friendship._ "

"Take that back." John was tense with anger. He had almost forgotten how much he had wanted to punch Sherlock when they had first met, now the feeling was coming back in force.

"Why? I have no desire too."

John couldn't say what it was. Hell it was probably just an accumulation of everything. He had just seen that look of distain and 'I'm better than you' smirk one too many times that day and for once there was no one to stop him. John raised his first and it connected with Sherlock's left eye.

John stared in horror had what he had done. Sherlock stumbled back and held a hand over his face. "You just...you-"

"Oh my god, I'm sorry Sherlock. I-"

John had barely a moment to register it before Sherlock's fist connected with his cheek. He had not been expecting there to be that much force behind it and John lost his footing. John stared in shock at the other man.  _Damn that hurt!_ Maybe there was more to Sherlock than at first glance because no one could punch like that without some training.

In another flash, Sherlock was tackling him to the sand. John grunted as his body connected with the ground. Sherlock tried to pin his arms to his sides. However where John was smaller he was more compact. Sherlock growled when he saw he was being over powered and used his legs to try and shift their body weight.

Sherlock flipped them over again but John managed to get the taller man under him with another twist of their bodies. They spun around on the sand each struggling for dominance until John finally managed to pin one of Sherlock's arms over his head and clinch his legs together with his knees.

Sherlock struggled under him, refusing to give up that easily. Finally realizing that John wasn't going to let him go, Sherlock's movements stilled slightly. He was still breathing fast and his chest rose in small bursts.

"You have more fight than I thought you would." John smirked as he looked down at Sherlock.

"I practice baritsu."

John furrowed his brows. "But, your hands-"

"My mother didn't want anyone to know I was partaking in such a barbaric practice. She had a special cream made for my hands to make sure they stay unblemished. I'm only allowed to practice twice a week." Sherlock smirked. "Although I rarely follow the last rule. As long as I don't allow my body mass to change too dramatically she'll never notice."

John laughed because there didn't seem anything better to do. Sherlock looked confused for a moment and then joined in with the laughter. It felt good and hearing Sherlock laugh made John feel even better, so he laughed even harder. The tension in his shoulders finally seeped out.

Sherlock smiled up at him. One of those eye crinkling ones that John hadn't seen in far too long. John's lips tugged up. He still hadn't released Sherlock's wrist that was pinned above his head. John chose to ignore that fact till the other man mentioned it.

John searched for something else to say. There had to be more to say before he was forced to get up. Except all that there was to say were words that he wasn't ready to voice.  _Why are you doing this to me? Why can't I stop it? This isn't going to lead us anywhere good and I still want it more than anything. Do you want it too? What am I to you? Because I don't know what you are to me but you are important. Damn important._

"Watson," Sherlock said softly.

John's eyes refocused and he knew he had been lost in his swirl of complicated thoughts. He looked down at the man underneath him and somehow with it all, he had forgotten that Sherlock hadn't moved either. The younger man hadn't pushed him away or even complained. He just lay under John.

The heartbeat that had slowed down after their tussle sped up again. Sherlock just looked up at him and his eyes became hazy. John gulped and it was thick in his throat. His entire body was coming to life and his lips began to twitch with the need to have Sherlock's mouth on his. Except it wasn't just his lip that twitched and John knew there was no denying that the entire time Sherlock had been underneath him he had been incredibly hard. They both were.

Sherlock's head tilted up and his chin lifted slightly in invitation. John didn't give it another thought as he dropped his head so his mouth could cover Sherlock's parted lips.

 


	8. Dune 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sexy times! A 1000+ words of porn for your viewing pleasure. 
> 
> Rite of ibu- purification at the Nile with oils   
> Neb ankh- tomb/sarcophagus

It just felt so good to have Sherlock under him and John forgot for a moment how much he might come to regret his decision. The other man's tongue was insistent on John opening his mouth and he found little need to fight back. John's cheek stung from the punch and smashing his lips to Sherlock's only made it sting more- still it didn't stop him from deepening their connection.

Sherlock's tongue was warm and wet in his mouth. The desert air had already begun to chap his lips and John drank in the wetness from Sherlock's open mouth. John took his hand from Sherlock's wrist so that he could pull at the curls that had been driving him crazy ever since he had first set eyes on the man.

Sand gritted under his fingernails as John fisted Sherlock's midnight curls. Sherlock released a deep moan and John gave his hair another tug. Sherlock's hands begun to move and were bunching up the material of John's shirt. Fingernails scraped across his back, even with the cotton of his shirt forming a barrier it sent electric shocks up his spine and to his groin.

Their bodies had not been moving too much and John slowly started to dig his hips further down onto Sherlock's. The man under him pushed back and John was rewarded with the feeling of Sherlock's length straining against his lower abdomen.

John sucked on Sherlock's lower lip and he let out a whimper. There was sweat mingled with their spit and John loved the taste of salt on his tongue. His hips rocked back and forth, pushing his straining cock to rub against Sherlock's flat stomach.

Sherlock's hand reached down and grabbed at John's arse. John needed more, he had to have more. It took everything he had to remove his mouth from Sherlock's. Instead he settled for bushing his lips along side Sherlock's mouth as he tried to form coherent words, "I need to-"

"John." Sherlock's words were rough and the mere sound of it made John's cock harder. "Please."

That was all John needed to hear. He used his knees to push his body up so he could undo his trousers. Sherlock's hand removed from John's arse and he used it to open up his own trousers and pants. John hissed as the warm desert air hit his prick. Before he placed his body back down on Sherlock, John's hand moved down to wrap around the other man's cock.

Sherlock's own body arched into the touch and he let out a cross between a gasp and moan. There was already pre-come beading at the top and John took a moment to rub his thumb over it, spreading it over the mushroom top. John lifted his finger to his mouth and sucked the liquid off. Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of John's hand as he did.

John's eyes finally wondered to Sherlock's face. The other man's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark. Sherlock was watching him with hunger and it made John's eyes narrow farther. Sherlock's hand shot up and grabbing John's shirt, pulled him back down onto his lips.

They bodies slammed back into each other and John hissed in between their mouths as his cock pressed down next to Sherlock's prick. His clothes were too confining but even if there wasn't the chance that they might get caught, the thought of being fully naked in the sand wasn't a pleasant thought.

 _Next time._ John tried to not think too hard about whether there would be a next time. Instead he focused on lifting his hips slightly so he could wrap a hand around their cocks. After wiping the sand off, John's hand took both of their lengths around his fingers. He tugged up and Sherlock's hips rose of the sand to met the movement.

Their kisses were open and wet. Breathes mingling with each other as he teased Sherlock with his mouth and tongue. Sherlock let out a whimper and John's lips lifted in a brief smile.

John's mind raced with all the words he wanted to tell the gorgeous man underneath him.  _Your body drives me crazy. I want to touch ever inch of you. Taste every part of you. I want you in my mouth, I can feel you in my blood. I want to bend you over and take you, so that no one can ever make you feel this same way other than me. You impossible person._

"What you do to me-" John cut himself off before the rest of the words could form themselves. Sherlock teased John's tongue out of his mouth and began to suck at it. John speed up the friction on their cocks.

"Left pocket." John barely said.

"Wha-?" Sherlock's eyes fluttered open.

"Handkerchief." The last thing he needed was evidence of their exploits on their clothes. Without another word, Sherlock complied and brought the small piece of fabric up to rest on his stomach.

Sherlock's angled his head down and began to nip at John's chin. John lifted his head up and gave the other man more room to roam with his mouth. Sherlock placed open mouthed kisses along his jawline.

John panting turned shallowed and the heat that had been pooling began to be too hot to ignore. "Are you close?"

John felt Sherlock's head nod as he continued to brush his teeth along the stubble on his chin. John tugged faster and removing his hand from keeping up his body weight dropped his head so his other hand could grab the handkerchief to cover their cocks.

John panted into the dip of Sherlock's neck and shoulder. His tongue darted out and tasted more of the sweat on the other man's skin. His panting made the sand stir and John felt a few grains on his tongue. He moved his mouth so he could bit down on Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock's leg wrapped around the back of John's thighs and pulled them closer. John grabbed for the cloth and barely had enough time to cover them before his orgasm hit him. It had been too long and ever muscle in his body strained and spasmed as he came. John muffled his groans into Sherlock's neck.

After another thrust, Sherlock body went ridge as he came into the handkerchief too. Sherlock's body lay limp back on the desert floor. John could feel their combined stickiness through the thin cloth. He lifted his body up to throughly whip them off before throwing it away and collapsing back onto Sherlock.

All the thoughts that John had been pushing from his mind came flooding back with a terrifying force.  _What are we doing? What have I done?_ John still didn't know what he was feeling for Sherlock and for one horrible second, John feared he had taken advantage of him.

"Please, if I hadn't of agreed, I would have said something Watson."

At the sound of his family name so many different messages were conveyed to him.  _The others can't know about this. This changes nothing. We are still two separate people here to do our jobs._ John knew why it had to be that why but it still caused his chest to contract. Before the moment was lost, he placed a quick kiss under Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock snorted. He didn't push John away, instead his hands lingered on the other man's hips. "We should probably go back."

"I wanted to hit him too."

"Hmm?"

"The reason I came out here was too tell you I wanted to hit that arsehole in the face too." John said.

Surprisingly Sherlock let out a deep chuckle. "So we hit each other instead."

"It's better than being arrested." And John started to laugh too.

Both of their laughs mingled together and nothing else in the world mattered.

* * *

 

"Ah, Sherlock. Dr. Watson." Mycroft looked them over. If he saw anything out of place, he chose to ask. "You're allowed on the Sudan. I talked with the officers and I had them come around to our way of thinking."

John smiled and offered a quick nod as he and Sherlock boarded the Sudan. The body was in one of the storage areas. It appeared to be another Egyptian worker and he had one cut along his lower abdomen.

"He's already been through the rite of ibu." Sherlock crouched closer. "There's an incision here. Which would mean that the intestines, liver, lungs and stomach have been removed."

John dug in his satchel for his glasses. His fingers ghosted over it, trying to gather what he could from the wound without touching it. It was done with medical precision. "It looks like he was being prepared for the same mummification the other worker went through."

Sherlock's hands were steepled, covering the front of his mouth. He stared at the corpse with a wild intensity, unblinking. John checked the rest of the body and found no other wounds; no exit or entrance holes from a pistol, stab marks or any signs of asphyxiation.

"There's going to be more." Sherlock's voice was tight.

"I know."

Sherlock turned to him with a small smile playing on his lips. "I must admit that I'm quite pleased that I chose to accompany my brother."

 _I am too._ John shrugged his shoulders. "Hunt down murders in your spare time?"

"A few."

John searched Sherlock's face to see if he was kidding. He wasn't.

* * *

 

After the excitement of the afternoon and spending most of it in the sun, John was happy to walk back into the shade of the Temple of Seti I. The tip of John's nose was starting to sunburn and he knew soon his entire body would look much like it did when he had been in the army; he had gotten too pale working at the museum.

After a few minutes, Sherlock released a snarl of frustration. "I need that other corpse! There aren't any other clues. Whoever did this was incredibly through."

Sherlock dug the tips of his fingers into his forehead. He looked like he was in physical pain and John hated to see it. "Come on, before the murders we were here to translate some hieroglyphics and unwrap some mummies." John pointed to one of the neb ankhs, "How about we finish translating Hunefer's? There might be a clue we missed."

Sherlock pulled at his fringe. "Why?! I don't care to be coddled, Watson."

John released a sigh. "I'm not trying to 'coddle' you. I'm trying to make sure you don't claw your eyeballs out." He sat down and took his tools out of his shoulder satchel.  _He may not want to do this, but this is what I travelled here for before all the murders started._

John sat quietly, intent in doing his work. He didn't look up when he felt Sherlock looming over him. "I apologize."

John bit back a snarky remark. Out of all the rude statements Sherlock had made, he had never apologized once. John decided not to ruin the moment. "Well, come on then."

Sherlock kneeled down beside him and started to read the hieroglyphics.

* * *

 

"We've been invited to join Prof. Moriarty and his team for dinner." Lestrade said. He had walked into the chamber to find John and Sherlock deep in conversation. They had actually found useful information from the translating.

"No." Sherlock's tone was flat.

"You're brother said you might disagree. He says you have to go or he won't allow you access to the corpses."

Sherlock's face twisted in anger and he jumped up from his position on the floor next to John.

"Don't shot the messenger." Lestrade raised his hands in defense.

John tucked his tools away and bit back a sigh. He had been looking forward to a semi-peaceful evening.  _So much for that._

* * *

 

 

John supposed it was quiet. Except for the quiet was stifling. Heated words had been exchanged between Moriarty and Sherlock and after that no one had mutter a word. John swallowed hard around his food and searched his mind for something to say.

"Boys, there's no need to act in such a rash manner." Adler offered one of her feminine smiles at Sherlock. His mouth screwed down into a frown. "John, however do you deal with him all day?"

"He's been indispensable in the translations and I'm sure I won't know half as much as I did about the murders if he wasn't here. All in all, it's been quite interesting." John had no idea why Adler's words rubbed him the wrong way. What she said was completely true. It was odd; he could call Sherlock an idiot but he hated it whenever anyone else did.  _He's my idiot._ John thoughts surged of protectiveness and possession. He tried to convince himself it was only because of Sherlock's age.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. Please tell us what you have gathered from the corpses." For anyone else it might have sounded sarcastic, but Mary's words were sincere.

Sensing that, Sherlock gave her an honest answer. "As Watson first hypothesized the first mummy is in fact only a month old. However the binders are from ancient Egypt. The thirtieth dynesty to be exact. Hunefer's body is still missing, along with his copy of the Book of the Dead. I suspect that the person who placed the body in the tomb also killed the man discovered on the Sudan. The body was not anywhere near the stage of completion as the other one..."

As Sherlock took another breath to continue with his monologue, John interjected, "See what I mean? Holmes is quite in his element."

Sherlock raised a question eyebrow but he made no complain in being interrupted nor did he try to finish his sentence.

After that, the conversation was casual and almost bore John to tears. However he kept up appearances and chit-chatted with everyone. He kept an extra eye on Moriarty. The more John got to know the man, the less he liked him.

They said their good-byes and Mycroft and Lestrade made their way back to the Sudan. Sherlock and John wished them good-night. They had barely said their parting words before Sherlock turned to the Temple, set to walk back.

"Holmes, you need to sleep."

"No I don't. I need to work." Sherlock continued walking.

"I think Moriarty might have something to do with this." John had been debating telling the other man but the words now tumbled from his mouth.

Sherlock turned back to John and put his hands on his hips. "Don't be so dull. Of course, he is."

"Did you feel the need to tell me?" John couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You're dull but you're not as thick as the others. I knew you'd reach the same conclusion, even if it took you longer."

John tried to look past all the rude remarks and to the main meaning in what Sherlock had said, 'I think you're smarter than the other people.' John was almost flattered,  _almost._

"Okay, fine. Still you need to go to bed."

"People are dying and you want me to sleep?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, because I can see the purple bags under your eyes and you need proper rest." John took a few steps forward so he was in Sherlock's personal space. "For me, yeah?"

"Why would I do that for you?" Sherlock's eyebrows screwed up.

"So I don't have to worry." John was beginning to regret he had ever added the few little words.

"Why would you worry about me?" Sherlock sounded beyond confused.

"Do I really need to answer that?" John almost added  _You're my friend,_ but that didn't seem to encompass everything that he was feeling for the younger man.

Sherlock's eyes clouded over and he stared off into the distance. He shook his head as if waking from a trance. "Don't think you can order me about." Sherlock lowered his eyes. "But I am tired. I think the Temple can wait for an evening."

"Good-night, Holmes." John couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.


	9. Dune 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue heavy chapter & character development! Please enjoy! More people will be murdered soon :D

John blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He didn't have to look at his watch to tell that it was the crack of dawn. Instead of trying to get out of bed, John let the events of the last two weeks wash over him.

He could barely even remember what life had been like. It had been so routine working at the museum. Not that he hadn't liked it, but rather it had a set pattern. While his reality now was strikingly different. Nothing had ever felt like this. It had been a week full of adrenaline and for a while John had wondered if he could ever feel so alive again- he was happy to be proven wrong.

But he couldn't mark the source of his elation- was it because of the dig, the murders or Sherlock? Was it a combination of all three? John rubbed at his eyes and realized that he really didn't care. It was happening now and he would live for the  _now._ If anything, the army had taught him that there might not be a tomorrow.

Getting up, John splashed his face with water and finally shaved his three day old stubble. He rubbed a hand over his smooth skin before taking of his pajamas and changing into his work clothes. The servants had washed it the day before and it smelled different.

 _It's the soap the Holmeses use. That Sherlock uses._ John took another deep breath before leaving his tent to get a cup of coffee and some much needed breakfast.

John was surprised to find that he wasn't the only one awake at the early hour. Lestrade was sitting at one of the small tables. John smiled. It had been too long since he and the curator had had a moment to themselves. Lestrade's smile was warm and he took another sip of coffee.

"Morning, John. How's the desert air treating you this fine morning?" Lestrade looked as if he had already been awake for hours. Despite that, the man was fresh and bright eyed.

"The coffee must have less of a tar consistency than normal if it put such a smile on your face." John nodded and thanked the servant that placed breakfast before him.

Lestrade made a noncommittal sound as he took another bit of tomato. "I had been wondering if I was getting too old for this sort of thing and I'm happy to have been proven wrong."

John had the strange feeling that Lestrade was talking about more than just the dig. "What part of the trip did you think you were too old for?"

Lestrade's ears turned pink. "Let's just say that maybe your not the only one finding the Holmes' brand of attitude rather endearing."

It was John's turned to blush and he was happy that he was able to stop it before it heated his whole face. "Really?" John was speechless. What could he say? Was Lestrade admitting to being attracted to the older Holmes brother? How much did Lestrade know about what he and Sherlock had done?  _Better to act nonchalant than to give away too much information._

Lestrade eyes narrowed and his lips tugged up into a quick smile. "Really." He offered no more explanation and continued to eat his breakfast.

"What do you think about the murders?"

"Honesty? No idea. It all seems so unreal. Why would anyone do this? What about you? You've been following it much more closely than me."

John's thoughts shifted to Sherlock and he hoped that the prat was getting the sleep he needed. John's eyes softened and Lestrade didn't miss the change in expression. John was thankful that the curator offered no comment. "Me? It's not really about what I think." He didn't need to add,  _I'm trying my hardest but I'm really just tagging along, trying not to be swallowed up by his shadow._

"However I don't think the murders will end. They are working towards some greater end. There's an unlaying purpose to it all." John hadn't realized how much he believed those words until he spoke them. That was what scared him the most, the knowledge that more people were going to be murdered. An image flashed in John's mind of a mess of black curls framing a cold lifeless face. John shivered and pushed the image away.

"Yeah, it's best to be on our guard." Lestrade said. "I having a feeling that the police are going to be less than..." He waved his hand dismissively, obviously not wanting to speak ill of the police and yet knowing that they were going to be less than what they had hoped- in every sense of the word.

"As long as they stay out of my way, I'll consider it a job well done."

Lestrade smirked. "For once, I must admit that I agree."

* * *

 

John made his way to the Temple of Set I. He had contemplated waking Sherlock after breakfast, but had decided against it. Sherlock needed his sleep and he  _had_  been the one who had demanded that the younger man actually go to his tent to rest.

Te the sun was still low in the sky.  _Maybe I can finish those translations. Then I'll categorize some of the artifacts._ He also knew that as soon as Sherlock woke up he would want to investigate the new body further. Not that John didn't want to help him, but he had travelled down the Nile to record ancient Egyptian history, not murder. Even if the latter one was proving to be more exciting.

Something caught the corner of his eye and John turned to the right. Prof. Moriarty was approaching him. There was no where to hide- he was in a desert; so John did the only thing he could do. Raising his hand, John offered him a half-hearted wave, hoping that would be enough to send the man away and not seek out a proper greeting. John soon discovered he wasn't going to be so lucky.

Prof. Moriarty made his way over and offered a slick sweat hand in a handshake. John took it but kept the contact as short as he could. Even if Sherlock hadn't like the man, John was sure that he had his own reservations about the professor. There was something just a bit off about him.

"Dr. Watson, how pleasant to see you on this fine morning." The professor's eyes shone but there was only a reptilian look to them.

"I was wondering how your little 'investigations' were going. Sherlock was always such an impressionable lad. Why he once thought that there had been a murder on university grounds. Raised quite a ruckus about it. Got him expelled, actually."

"Did it?" John hated the sound of interest in his voice but Sherlock had never told him any of this. Suddenly John felt a pang of jealous for the professor that had known Sherlock back in England. Was he a different person? How much did he really know about Sherlock Holmes?

"He can be very manipulative when he wants to be. The head master saw through his lies however."

There was so much John wanted to say to refute the obvious lies spewing from Prof. Moriarty's mouth.  _But are they lies?_ It did sound exactly like something Sherlock would do. Murder was a game to him. Lives were at stake and Sherlock seemed to care little about that.

"He'll do anything not to be bored." Prof. Moriarty's tone was low and there was a dangerous edge to it.

John bit down on the inside of his lip. Prof. Moriarty was obviously a manipulator. He had no idea what the other man had planted inside of Sherlock's mind, but he was having none of it. Captain John H. Watson was too old for games.

"Holmes is a lad who means well, even if he can be over enthusiastic at times. I have full faith in his ability to catch the killer and I'll be there to help him in an capacity that he needs me."

"Your very loyal, very quickly, aren't you?" Prof. Moriarty tilted his head. "Are you sure that Sherlock of all people deserves your trust?"

John straightened his back. "I believe if that is all there is to say than I will be getting back to my work."

"So happy we could have this little chat."

* * *

 

It nagged at the back of his mind. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, the bastard had planted small seeds of doubt in John's head. But was it really doubt? More he had a craving to know about Sherlock. Before John had been relatively satisfied just to work along side him and indulge in the urges they both seemed to be experiencing but had done little to really learn about  _who_ Sherlock actually was.

Now John had a craving to know more about the man that was Sherlock Holmes. If he hadn't been injured in the line of duty, John was sure that he and Sherlock would have never have met. While the Watson family was far from facing poverty, they could never hope to run in the same social circles as the Holmes family did.

And that was the nail in the coffin. No matter what happened in the desert, it did not translate into a relationship outside of the small world they had created thousands of miles away from civilization. Thousands of miles from England were eyebrows would be raised in question at two men who would normally never have a word to share with each other.

It wasn't the sexual liaisons between them that mattered to the social elite as much as the social and economical gap between them. What privileges did John have to ask Sherlock about his past? Would he be willing to answer any questions that Sherlock may have about his? Although Sherlock seemed to be able to deduce everything about him, John hoped there were still some parts of him that alluded his piercing mind.

"Just ask me."

Sherlock's harsh tone broke through John's thoughts. With a blush, he realized it wasn't the first time the other man had called his name.

"What did Prof. Moriarty say to you? Are you so predictable that you believe every word he said just because he is older than me? How plebeian of you." There was a biting edge to Sherlock's tone, almost egging John to start an argument.

John put down his pencil and let out a sigh. Instead of making him angry the words cut at him. "Do you think so little of me?"

Sherlock hesitated. "I'm not accustomed to people believing my word over another person's."

"Holmes, I'm not 'people'. You need to understand that, okay? I want to believe you."  _I want to believe in you._

Sherlock averted his eyes. A silence settled over them and John waited for Sherlock to tell him how much or how little he wanted too. Eventually John went back to translating the last of the hieroglyphics in the main chamber of the temple. When Sherlock finally spoke John had almost forgotten about the other man.

"It was my first year of uni. There was a murder. It was obvious but no one would listen to me, they all said it was an accident- food poisoning. It wasn't. No matter what I said, to the faculty or to the police, they wouldn't listen. The university president told me to 'leave it be' but how could I? Why didn't they just understand? I had the answers and no one would listen..." Sherlock blinked for a moment, lost in thought.

"Why wouldn't they listen to me, John? No one ever listens! Finally the board got sick of dealing with my accusations...and I was expelled." Sherlock finished.

"They expelled you for raising concerns about a supposed murder?" It didn't quite add up in John's mind. Even though Sherlock could be demanding at times, why would they expel him?

"Truth be told, I did break into the president's house for evidence. It didn't go as I had planned." Sherlock's face soured remembering his failure. "Mycroft thought it pertinent for me to leave London to 'cool off' as he phrased it. At first he had plans to send me away to France before he received that wire from Lestrade."

John tried not to chuckle at the impressive areguement it must have been. Neither Holmes brother went down without a fight. "Do you think Prof. Moriarty had anything to do with the murder at your university?"

"Yes. Although he didn't commit the murder, he was definitely aware of who the guilty party was and I don't believe that Moriarty was an innocent party."

"How do you mean?"

"I have concluded that he was the one who supplied the poison. Unfortunately I lack the evidence to make a more compiling argument. I do not believe in 'gut feelings' but you didn't see the way he looked at me at the inquest, Watson. It was like he wanted me to figure it all out; he welcomed the challenge."

John frowned. "I wish I could have been there to help."

Sherlock's head jerked to the side to stare at John. "Why?"

"I don't know." John shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose they might have listened to you if there had been someone older with you. Why didn't your brother speak out in your defense?"

Sherlock let out a bitter hard laugh. "Mycroft? Help me? It did not concern him and therefore was not worth his  _precious_ time. He only became interested when he thought I would tarnish the family name even further."

"Does he think so little of your skills?"

"No, more he thinks I should be quiet about what I observe unless it brings some sort of benefit to the family. The murder of a lowly maid did not matter in his opinion and therefore I was expected to remain silent."

"Now I remember why I left London." John let out a short gruff laugh.

"It is poorer without you."

John licked his lips. "When will you return?"

Sherlock's eyes darkened and he turned back to his work. "When things are less interesting here then they are there."

John wondered how long it would take for Sherlock to grow sick of him- not that it mattered. If anything, it would be him who would once again want to punch the git for his rude manners and grow tired of his brass ways. It was a good lie and John chose to believe it.


	10. Dune 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love this story. Egypt has always interested me. I’m happy Johnlock translates into every AU ever! All this porn again...geez, the boys can’t keep their hands off of each other in this one.

Sherlock had beautiful bed head. His hair was tousled in every direction and his sleep coloured cheeks were...adorable. Maybe one day he would have the courage to tell Sherlock that. Would it be playfully? After a good shag? John licked his lips at the thought of actually having Sherlock around him or the other way around. Although a quick toss on the sand had been nice, John wanted to explore the younger man on a less grittier surface.

"Watson, try and stay focused." There was no bite in Sherlock's words and if John wasn't sure he was imagining it, he would almost guess affection too.

"Sleep well then?" Before he could think better of it, John glossed his hand over the front of Sherlock's hand.

"Remarkably well." Sherlock smile lingered for a moment. He decked his hand through his curls making them even more unruly.

John wondered if it was a dream. There was a blanket of calm around them in the early morning air and a tight feeling of contentment. It would have been nice to wake up to that tousled head of black and kiss it. His arm wrapped around Sherlock's waist, brushing fingers along his hip. Contentment. The younger man was a hurricane and John found the thought of being his calming anchor a curiously pleasent.

"Come, Watson. I find that once I have given into one vice, my body demands another."

John's cheeks flushed.

"I hope they have fresh coffee ready." Sherlock turned around and made his way to the main tents. Leaving a stunned John in his wake.

John most definitely did not release a disappointed sigh.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"So they're practicing their mumming techniques. Why? To what end?" Sherlock muttered to himself. He had been going around in circles and John had stopped offering any sort of advice.

It was true that none of it made any sense. Why did the murderer feel a need to practice amateur skills on real people or to practice at all? And why here? Not in the city were there would be a bigger pool of people unless...

"They needed the book, didn't they?" John said mostly to himself.

"Yes, do please try and keep up." The words were sharp but there was no sting in them.

John rubbed his neck and stretched out his stiff muscles. He and Sherlock had been in the main chamber for over an hour looking for something that still might remain that could give them any hints on who the murderer had been.

"If we put aside the logical than there is a myriad of other possibilities, even though they are improbable." Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin and frowned.

"Logical?"

"There seems to be nothing logical behind the half made mummies and the stolen book." Sherlock continued. "I hate to even consider it..."

"Reincarnation." John couldn't believe it himself. Was there actually someone killing people for some sort of mystical and otherworldly end.

"But who? Why? If they were trying to bring back a pharaoh, they would just need his body. There would be no need to make new ones. They are honing their techniques for the real task. But why kill someone only to bring them back again?" Sherlock said.

"Another soul."

Sherlock's eyes peeked open in interest. "Um?"

"Reincarnation deals with a soul that has been reborn. What if they're trying to, I don't know, use a human vessel to bring back a soul that hasn't been reincarnated yet." John scratched his chin. "Mind you, this is all ludicrous."

"Yes, yes it is." Sherlock closed his eyes again. "Still it is an interesting thought, Watson."

John wore a smug smile as he continued to work and Sherlock went back to silently contemplating the unknown.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sherlock's mouth was insist and needy in its demands. There was no question to John giving in to it, still he couldn't believe how quickly his body was always willing to do whatever the younger man demanded from him.

It still shocked him that Sherlock pursued him so relentlessly. John was under no allusion that Sherlock couldn't do better than him. He wanted to ask if it was because he was the only man within a radius of hundreds of miles, but John found that he really didn't want to know the answer. Other than the fact that it sounded extremely needy and insecure. So John decided he would enjoy it while it lasted and wouldn't be hurt when Sherlock's interest eventually faded.

John had had a fair inkling of what Sherlock had wanted when he had asked to check for something in his room on the Sudan. The younger man had barely waited a moment before pinning John against the closed door. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who didn't want to go a single day without touching the other man.

With Sherlock's leg opening John's own, his thigh brushed up against his half-hard cock.

"I normally find it intolerable when others offer their opinion. It's so obvious, why would I need any help?" Sherlock's eyes were dark and his voice was husky against John's ears.

"You have a strange way of trying to complement someone." John's voice was low and he almost didn't recognize it as his own.

"I don't find your offerings of help to be annoying, quite the contrary. I want you with me, want you..." Sherlock paused and John felt a tongue at the side of his mouth. "Want you, with me, I find your presence relaxing. I can almost think better with you there. You make a fine sounding board, Watson."

"Always willing to serve." John said while releasing a gasp as Sherlock's thigh rubbed up against his hardening length.

"Are you?"

It sounded like Sherlock was asking for more than just then just another sexual liaison, more than just one moment in time. John didn't want to say too much, show how in over his head he already was- drowning his every sense in the other man named Sherlock Holmes.

"You'll just have to find out."

"I'm not a patient man." Sherlock nipped at John's lower lip.

John let out a chuckle. "I would have never guessed."

"Enough talking."

Their mouths met again and John brought his hands up to twist his fingers through the soft curls. His palms slide down his back and came to rest on his back. Fingers pressed and Sherlock tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Sherlock's tongue was hot and needy, seeking out every part of John's willing mouth. Pulling his head back, Sherlock let out a shaky breath.

"I want you inside me. I need to feel you, John." Sherlock's panted out.

John eye's widened. His heartbeat picked up and he could feel blood rushing to his cock, making it harder, pressing up against his trousers. He wanted to...so badly. But it just didn't seem like the right time. Even though he had been daydreaming about it earlier, it seemed too rushed, even for them. John wondered if Sherlock even knew what he was asking for.

"No." John was firm in his answer; he didn't sound angry.

Sherlock let out a whimper.

John's resolve crumbled only a little. "I will press my fingers up inside you. Finger your tight hole and make you come like that." To prove his point, John let his hand linger further down Sherlock's back to cup his arse. John's fingers creeped up between his cheeks and fingers brushed up along the material of his trousers.

"Yes, yes. That will do nicely. Please." It wasn't begging, but Sherlock's words came out in a rush. John wanted to see if he could make Sherlock beg, now that they weren't on the hot desert sand, he could rid the other man of his clothes.

"Clothes. Off."

Sherlock nodded and after lowering his suspenders, pulled his white shirt over his head. John kept his hands to himself as Sherlock continued to strip off all of his clothes. After stepping out of his trousers and pants, he crawled over to the bed and stretched out on it.

John took a moment to admire the sight before him. Sherlock was flushed and his cock pressed up hard and pink against his flat stomach. There wasn't a scar or blemish on his body, although there was still a nice purplish mark around the eye John had punched the day before. I'm going to leave another mark on him. There were thick black curls and John licked his lips as Sherlock widened his legs in invitation. He didn't have to be told twice.

John threw off his shirt and quickly pushed down his trousers. He crouched down onto the bed and kneeled between Sherlock's legs. Grabbing a pillow, John placed it under Sherlock's arse. Long fingers brushed up against his wrists and John brought them to his lips to press a firm kiss onto them. Sherlock sighed in contentment and wiggled up closer.

John's hand came to rest on Sherlock's knee and he lifted the leg up so that it was bent. Placing a kiss on the inside of his knee, John smiled when he felt Sherlock's body jump minutely under his touch. For some reason, Sherlock hadn't been expecting the tender touch. Who else has he been with? It mattered little. Besides I'll make sure he always measures them to me. John took pride in his skills in pleasuring his partner and Sherlock was going to be no exception.

John brought his mouth to Sherlock's inner thigh and began to suck. Sherlock's hands tangled and pulled John's short hair as he sucked and nibbled. John continued until he was content that there would be a red mouth shaped mark that would remain for at least a week.

John made eye contact with Sherlock and made sure that the younger man saw when he put his fingers in his mouth. John had lubricate in his own room but he was in no mood to get up. Besides he could use it next time. Next time. John licked his fingers, letting them slip in and out of his mouth as his tongue traced over them. Sherlock groaned. Content with reaction he had elicited, John worked his slick hand over Sherlock's thick length.

His cock bobbed up and John felt it pulsated under his hand. John let out a groan and tugged up a few times. Sherlock's hips bucked up and John's hand moved down to the base. His hand continued to work its way down until he cupped one of Sherlock's balls. John pulled lightly and Sherlock opened his legs further.

Sherlock's hole was hot to the touch and tighter than John had ever thought possible. He let his fingers leave a sticky trail over it as he lazily ran them up and down and then in small circles.

"God, John. That's-" Sherlock groaned out.

"What do you want?" He knew exactly what Sherlock wanted, but he had planned on making the man beg.

"Please, John." Sherlock whined. He tried to push his body down on John's hands but the other man pulled away just enough.

"What do you want?" John paused after every word.

"Please, I need you in me, John. I need your fingers inside me, feeling every part of me."

John's mind almost overloaded at the wanton words tumbling from Sherlock. Biting his lip to contain an explicative, John finally pressed the tip of his finger into the tight hole. Sherlock's hands bunched up the covers and he hummed as John pushed his finger in until his knuckle brushed up against his skin.

After that, it was quick work for John to fit two fingers into the younger man. Sherlock's body pressed up and down and he began to fuck himself on John's fingers.

"God, Sherlock. If you could only see yourself." John panted.

Sherlock's head was thrown back and John's eyes raked over the flushed skin. John brushed his fingertips up and found the bundle of nerves that made Sherlock moan out in pleasure.

"Yes, that!" Sherlock hissed out.

Sherlock's cock slapped up against his stomach as he continued to press down on John's fingers. Pre-come glistened the top of it and John dragged his fingers over the top of it. He brought the come to his lips and tasted the saltness of it on his tongue.

Wanting to feel more of Sherlock, John brought his hand back to it and started to pump Sherlock's cock.

"John." Sherlock body lost itself in the rhythm of John's fingers inside of him and the fist dragging along his length. "I can't- John, I'm so close."

John stared unblinking. "Come for me, Sherlock. Just like this."

Sherlock's entire body shook with the power of his orgasm. John hummed as Sherlock tighten around his fingers. Thick come peppered Sherlock's chest and John was overcome with an urge to lick it off. Without another thought, John bent down and dragged his tongue through it.

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbow and groaned at the sight.

"Watson, what are you-?"

John chose to ignore the question as he licked a strip across Sherlock's abdomen, mixing come and saliva. Sherlock's hand cupped his neck and brought their lips together.

Sherlock's fingers wrapped around the John's cock and he remembered about his own ignored erection.

"Let me handle that."

Sherlock's hand pushed John down onto the bed until he was laying back. With one fluid movement, Sherlock took John's pants off and threw them down to the floor. Sherlock lowered his head and his plush lips parted to take John into his mouth.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The smile plastered on John's face was embarrassing. He couldn't seem to keep the sides of his mouth from lifting up every time he remembered how plaint and needy Sherlock had felt under him. His hands still tingled with the soft supple skin that his finger nails had raked across. Sherlock Holme's body was a drug and John was slowly becoming addicted to it.

The peaceful evening air was suddenly cut ripped open at the sound of a blood churning yell. John's head whipped up. He knew that yell all to well, except it had been years since he had hear it. It was a sound of man who knew he was going to die...and it had sounded like Sherlock.

John didn't know that he could still run so fast. The yell had come from the direction of the tents and John ran up to Sherlock's tent. He threw open the flap, not really sure what he would find there.

Sherlock was huddled up on his bed and a snake was at the foot of it. John gasped at the sight of a horned viper slithering around the sand. It was deadly poisonous and John searched around fruitless from something to kill it with. Just as he was about to give up and take the risk of being bit by stepping on it, another person joined John at the entrance of the tent.

Mycroft's umbrella tip lashed out and a blade cut the viper in half. It gave one final jerk as its body stopped thrashing. John paid Mycroft no attention as he ran to Sherlock.

"Are you all right? Tell me your all right!" John didn't wait for a reply and began to frantically search Sherlock for any sign of a bite.

"John, I-"

John's hands stilled as his eyes caught sight of the inflamed area on Sherlock's right leg. There were two puncture holes and they was already deep bruising around the area. Sherlock jerked his leg away when John's fingers brushed up next to the swelling.

"It bit you." John's eyes stared unblinking at the wound that would most certainly mean death. "Oh, god. Sherlock, it bit you."

Sherlock's hand reached out and covered John's clinched hands. His palms were already clammy and John shivered at the touch of it.

"Dr. Watson, go get your medical kit from your tent." Mycroft's voice was clear and steady. John jumped at the sound of it, he had totally forgotten that the other man was there.

John continued to stare unmoving at Sherlock's pale face. A sweat had broken out on his brow and John knew that the boy would probably already have a burning fever as the venom raced along his veins infecting every part of his body.

"Dr. Watson!"

John jumped and turned to face Mycroft. The older man's face was set in a hard, emotionless mask. "Please retrieve your medical bag."

John nodded once, to afraid to try and speak. At that moment, John wasn't sure that he could. His entire throat was constricted and there was a huge lump blocking it. Releasing a shaky breath, John looked at Sherlock one last time before standing up and heading to his tent.

As a precaution, John had brought anti-venom for many of the common and not so common snakes they might come into contact with during their dig. But there was no anti-venom for horned viper poison. He had never felt more powerless as he grabbed his medical bag and ran back to Sherlock's tent.

John tried to clear his mind and concentrate on only the main issue of providing Sherlock with the medical attention that he needed. It's not Sherlock. It's someone else. A faceless solider, another comrade wounded who needs medical attention as the bullets fly. John was proud that he was able to at least put up the veneer of calm.

Mycroft had Sherlock laying down on the bed when he returned to the tent. Mycroft stood motionless in the corner, giving John all the space that he needed. John felt grossly inadequate to handle the situation. Giving himself a mental slap and gritting his teeth, John bent down to do what he could for his dying friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be from Mary's POV :D


	11. Dune 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary's POV 
> 
> minor character death 
> 
> TW: for death being depicted in the chapter.

She felt sick to her stomach. How could she have done what she just did? What had become of her that she was willing to not only let her precious viper be killed, but that she had used him to harm a human being?

Mary tried to remind herself that Sherlock Holmes wasn't human.  _The way he looked at John..._ She shook her head and fought down the vomit that worked its way up into her throat. It had seemed so easy before. Prof. Moriarty had told her everything she needed to know about the man. Had finally given her an opportunity to kill the last person who had destroyed her. She had never figured there would be someone like John H. Watson.

She knew that Prof. Moriarty hadn't planned for him either.

Something that had seemed so easy, so straightforward, was now slipping through her fingers like sand. Mary laughed bitterly as she looked down at the desert surrounding her.  _Maybe I always knew in the back of my mind that this would be the end of the road._

Clenching her teeth, Mary closed her eyes as tears fell from her eyes. It had been easier when Mr. Holmes had only been a machine. When there had been no light behind his eyes and no flush to his cheeks when he looked at another person. How could one person change a heartless creature like Mr. Holmes so much?

Mary wasn't surprised that the amateur detective didn't remember her, didn't remember her family. It had almost been five years ago, five years that her family had been taken from her. One cold, drizzly autumn evening.

" _What's going on here?"_

" _A murder, well multiple murders actually. But it's all rather boring I'm afraid." The tall lanky boy turned to Mary. His eyes looked at her unseeing. His pupils were wide and he had a cold face. Mary shivered._

" _Multiple murders?" All she could do was repeat what had been said to her. There were coppers were in her neighborhood. In front of her house. It hadn't bothered her that her family had not picked her up at the station. Even though they had promised, her father had promised to pick her up..._

" _Money. It's always about money. All very obvious. Dull." He turned back to the house and let out a disappointed sigh._

_He started to walk away. Mary called out after him. The boy turned around, frowning._

" _Are they all dead?" She should be talking to the coppers about it. Why was she asking this boy that was not connected to the law? She balled her hands up in fists and stared at him unblinking._

" _No witnesses. They all had their throats slashed. Gambling debts. Used the family as a warning to others." He looked at her for another moment, turned his head and walked away._

_Mary stared at her childhood house. She dropped her carpetbag and let out a howl of anguish. A copper came to ask what was wrong. The tall boy never turned back._

Another sob racked her body as she remembered the horrible way she had found out her family had been murdered. How her father's compulsive behaviour had gotten them all killed. She had been spared because the murderer hadn't know the date of her return from school. She had lived in constant fear of being next. Prof. Moriarty had taken her in, raised her. Not like a father but as a person who understood death, someone who understood the cold machine that was the youngest Holmes brother.

Prof. Moriarty had used the hate in her heart, hate that could be twisted and used to his advantage. 

Why had she alone been spared? But the more pressing question of all, why had she have to have the news broken to her by Sherlock Holmes? It had shocked her and showed her that no one truly cares about anyone else. A murdered family?  _It mattered little if there was no mystery around it._  Mary frowned. 

She needed to talk to John. Needed to tell the man with soft blue eyes that she was sorry. He would forgive her. Even when Mr. Holmes died, he would forgive her...she had to believe that.

She worried at her lower lip. Prof. Moriarty would not be happy with her change in attitude. If anything, she wished she could talk to Irene. Maybe she would understand, Irene was smarter than her. Irene could think for herself and didn't use the Professor as a crutch. Mary was being to see how much she had allowed the Professor to manipulate her. Well, she had wanted to be used, now-

Mary took her handkerchief out of her breast pocket and dapple at her wet eyes.  _No, I can't talk to Irene. I have to do this now. Alone._ Squaring her shoulders, Mary stood up. She couldn't wait another moment. If Prof. Moriarty looked in her eyes, he would see her waver in loyalties. He would see that she could move past the hate that she had carried for the heartless boy who had told her, without a waver in his voice, that her family had been murdered.

The heartless boy had seemed to have found his heart. At least before Mr. Holmes died he had found love, comfort in another human being. Putting her damp handkerchief back in her pocket, May made her way to the entrance of her tent. She pulled back the flap prepared to tell John everything. To beg for his forgiveness.

There came a sharp pain to the back of her head and her vision began to swim. Mary blinked and her eyes rolled back up into her head. She fell to her knees and the last thing she felt before she blacked out was her cheek hitting the hard desert sand.

* * *

 

Slowly consciousness came back to her. Her hands were tied up and her ankles were bound. There was a gag in her mouth and Mary didn't need to open her eyes to know where she was. It was the room that they had killed the two workers. Mary hadn't liked being there before and now was no different. Except the fear was new.

She hadn't minded the dissecting of the murdered Egyptians. The organs, that had been fine. It had been seeing their life spill from their bodies that Mary hadn't liked. Had hated. But her hatred of Mr. Holmes had been more overpowering.

"Miss Morstan, I had such high hopes for you."

Mary groaned against the gag. A shiver ran up her spine at the sound of Prof. Moriarty's voice.

"I had planned on killing you. Just not so soon."

A hand lingered on her ankle and began to rub the small bit of exposed skin. Although fear raced through her veins, there was an odd calmness covering her.  _I finally get to see them again. Mum. Daddy. Even you, Victor. How I've missed you all. You have no idea._ Why couldn't he have just killed her while she was unconscious?

"I know. John Watson is a bit of a surprise, isn't he? But it makes it all the more interesting though. I almost wish I had kept Sherlock alive for a while longer- almost.

I must admire I am curious to see how Dr. Watson will react. Especially when he discovers your untimely demise."

A knife flirted along her skin. Mary fought the urge to yell out, to shake or show any outside signs of fear. Prof. Moriarty wasn't allowed to have her fear- she wouldn't give him the self-satisfaction.

"I don't know how long I'll wait until I let him find your body. Because I do want the good doctor to find you. I wonder, will it finally break him? Will he ever recover? I imagine not. Do you think he'll join me? What lies he'll want to believe? So willing to follow orders...just like someone else I know."

The knife edge cut her skin and Mary's body tensed at the pain. It was a small shallow cut.

"I will have him. I will have everything I want and more." Prof. Moriarty's voice sounded far away, like he was no longer talking to her. "Just imagine: I'll be the one to resurrect him. It will be so...glorious."

The knife slithered up along her trouser leg. He placed the knife down on her thigh and began to unbutton her blouse. Mary fought against the ropes but it made little difference. After calmly unbuttoning three, he ripped open the rest of her blouse; buttons went flying.

"Just know that this is all for a good cause. You and the doctor, and naturally Sherlock. I wonder if he's still alive? Do you think John is weeping over his dead lifeless body? What will he say when I tell him you did it? That you took away Sherlock from him." Prof. Moriarty picked the knife up. "I wonder-"

The knife plunged down and Mary gagged around the material in her mouth. Silencing her in death.

Before the last of her blood dripped out of her body, Mary asked for forgiveness. She was sure she would have been forgiven. John was that kind of man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go. 
> 
> Did I take any of you by surprise? Curious to see more? :D


	12. Dune 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book is "The Secret Adversary" by Agatha Christine.

John's nightmares were different that night. The nightmares themselves were nothing new, they hadn't been for years. It was who was in them that changed. The sand still was rough against his skin, there was still the same helpless feeling of everything spiraling out of control and the inability to do a bloody thing to save anyone, help anyone. But before it had been faceless bodies, fallen comrades who needed his medical expertise.

Now the face was no longer blank, no matter how much he wished there weren't sharp cheekbones, a cupid mouth and a face that was far too pale even for Sherlock, the face wouldn't fade into nothingness. The bullets had been replaced by the hissing of snakes. The only part of the nightmare that remained the same was John's shaking hands, the knowledge that no matter what he did, it wasn't good enough to save another of his patients.

Waking with a start, John's eyes flew open. His face was pressed against coarse material and his body was bent over. He was sitting in a chair next to a bed. Reality came flooding back and John raised his head slowly. His right hand was clammy and John saw that his fingers were interlaced with Sherlock's.

Their hands were resting on top of Sherlock's chest. It was raising in small huffs, gasping for air that wasn't enough to fill his lungs. John's face contorted in pain. It hurt to see a man who was so strong become so helpless. Sherlock would have hated to see himself so weak. John tried to smile at thought, it was more of a grimace.

It had only been one night since the viper bite. Amazingly, Sherlock was still alive. Even though the anti-venom he had given Sherlock was for another type of viper venom it was still helping with some of the symptoms.

If John hadn't brought any anti-venom with him, Sherlock would have been dead by dawn. John gripped Sherlock's hand a little tighter. There was nothing he could do other than dot Sherlock's forehead with a cool cloth and clean out the infected bite marks on his leg.

John was relieved to see that the wound was not infected and there was only a normal amount of pus and swelling. John bit at the inside of his lip as he cleaned and redressed the wound with fresh bandages.

Sherlock's body was feverous, sweat rolled off his forehead and John knew that he needed to change Sherlock's shirt again. The dry desert air wasn't helping and John cussed again at his inability to make the boy more comfortable.

"John, how's he doing?"

John started at the hand that gripped his shoulder. Blinking away his thoughts, he looked up to see Lestrade. With another reassuring squeeze, Lestrade released John's shoulder.

"I wish I could say the he was better. But he's alive," John knew it wasn't appropriate to add,  _for now._ Anyway, John wasn't sure he could say it without his voice cracking.

"That's good." The words were flat but John knew the curator meant well.

John smiled weakly. "Making it through the night was the hardest part. The venom just has to run its course. I just have to keep Sher-" His throat constricted and the words refused to come.

"I agree. Yes." Lestrade placed a plate of food on the small table next to the bed. "I brought you breakfast. Got to keep your strength up, yeah?"

John nodded.

Lestrade opened his mouth to say more and then decided against it. With a sympathetic look from doctor to patient, he left the tent.

John promptly forgot all about the meal.

* * *

 

"Doctor, you should take your own advice. If you're weak, how do you expect to care for my brother?" Mycroft's voice was firm and right beside John.

He jumped at the voice.  _When did he enter the tent?_

"You never ate the meal Gregory brought you. In this heat, you'll become to weak to help Sherlock. Is that what you want?"

John knew it was a rhetorical question. Of course it wasn't what he wanted. He had just gotten too wrapped up in caring for Sherlock. What did his needs matter? What  _mattered_ was keeping Sherlock comfortable and his temperature regulated.

"I- yes, you're right. Could you please bring me some lunch? I'll eat it. I was just...distracted." John never took his eyes off of Sherlock's still sleeping body.

"I understand."

Mycroft came back a few minutes later with a plate of food. He handed it to John and pulled up a chair to sit with him. John didn't resent the action because he knew Mycroft wasn't babying him. Rather it was an excuse to make John eat and also to watch his brother.

John had almost forgotten that Mycroft was Sherlock's older brother. They hardly acted like they were related let alone brothers. John wondered if it was the fate of siblings to have strained bonds. John was reminded of his sister and their less than perfect relationship. Next to them, Sherlock and Mycroft were 'friendly' to each other. The food was heavy in John's throat.

"He really is a caring boy. More so than he wants to let on." Mycroft stared straight ahead. "With you, he seems to have finally stepped out of the shell he has been constructing for years. I had begun to wonder..." Mycroft let his voice fade away.

"Yes, Holmes is a guarded young man." Only after he had spoken the words did John realize he had spoken as if Sherlock wasn't in the room with them. Something tightened in John's chest.

"I believe he'll be alright, Dr. Watson. With you as his doctor, he'll be fine." Mycroft said, mostly to himself.

John nodded; not quite able to find the words.

* * *

 

The second night was far worse. Sherlock, who had been laying in almost a comatose state, began to thrash about. His arms raised up and his hands clawed for something that wasn't there. Sherlock shook his head from side to side and the washcloth keep falling off.

Sherlock began to mumble random words. A torrent of soothing words fell from John's lips and eventually he was able to get Sherlock to calm down. He placed a kiss to Sherlock's fever heated temple. It did nothing to calm Sherlock but it helped John feel better.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, John wished that he could do more. Even with his medical bag and years of schooling all he could do was offer a cooled washcloth and words of false comfort.

"Sherlock, please." He had no idea what he was pleading for from the other man. Not to die? Not to leave him alone? Because he had been alone, incredibly alone.

"I never knew how alone." John wrung out the washcloth and dipped it in fresh water. It wasn't anywhere as cold as he would have liked it to be. Nothing was like he wished it could be.

John stared down at Sherlock's strained face. The sun was just beginning to set. "You would laugh, won't you? "What good will  _wishing_ do, Watson.", that's what you would tell me."

John laughed. It rang hollow in his ears.

"It's been a long time since I've been close to anyone. You already know all about my family life. I try and keep in touch with my military pals but...I suppose the closest family I have are the people at the museum but they're more coworkers than anything, aren't they?" John was rambling. Sherlock would have hated it. John couldn't believe how happy he would be just to hear the younger man ridicule him for his foolish words.

"Don't you have anything to say? You always have something to say, you- you posh git." John's voice was rough. He refused to admit to himself that he was close to letting out a sob.

Sherlock's hand was limp in John's tight grip. "Please, don't die."

John had once asked God to spare his life and He had. Now John wondered if he had used his one free card. If had been selfish and now God won't listen to his pleas to save Sherlock. It was all ridiculously foolish. He didn't even believe in God. And here he was begging, for a second time, for a Being he didn't believe in to save a person's life.

John bit back at the sob he could no longer hold in.  _I think I would...I would trade what You gave me. I would ask that he lived instead._

It was just too painful, having someone he cared about ripped from him. It had been so long and this was why he never got close to anyone. Because they either disappointed him or abandoned him. It wasn't that Sherlock had a choice. Had he asked for a viper to bite him? Still...Why hadn't Sherlock fought back? Why had he allowed himself to be bit? White hot anger bubbled up in his chest and tear prickled at the sides of his eyes. Am I already at the anger stage? John let out a sharp laugh as tears stung his cheeks as they rolled down from his blurry eyes.

 _Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Will I ever be able to accept this? But acceptance means that I know he'll die._ Maybe he had known all along.  _No, no. No!_

More tears trickled down John's stubbled sunburned cheeks. He could go through all the other stages but not acceptance because Sherlock wasn't going to die. There was no way that Sherlock was going to die. Never.

John stopped trying to fight against the tears and allowed them to flow freely. One man could only have so much self-control.

* * *

 

Two more days passed and John was almost beginning to think that Sherlock might never wake up. Nightmares haunted him of deep fathomless emerald eyes and he didn't need to see the face to know who they belonged too. The eyes stared at him unseeingly.

John would have liked to seen him smile one more time; would have liked to have been the reason for it.

Sherlock's fever had finally broken and the swelling around the bite marks on his leg went down. Every new sign made John's heart pump a little bit harder, restoring faith that Sherlock would live to mock him another day.

"I'm not sure what I'll tell you, but I'll make sure that you know that you matter." John kissed Sherlock's knuckles.

John had had more time than he cared to think about what Sherlock really meant to him. What it meant for the two of them to be together. Originally, Sherlock had only annoyed him. The posh younger man had been a thorn in his side and the attraction that Sherlock had showed to John had surprised him, overwhelmed him even.

Although they hadn't been able to keep their hands off of each other, it was little proof that there was actually affection or emotion involved. John now knew that he had genuine feelings for the loud mouthed boy. Sherlock could be brass but there was other side to him that shone out occasionally and John wanted to see more of it. Wanted to be the  _reason_ for it.

John let his thoughts wonder before he dozed off into a dreamless nap.

* * *

 

"What fun it will be," responded Tuppence. "Marriage is called all sorts of things, a haven, and a refuse, and a crowning glory, and a state of bondage, and lots more..." John continued to read from the novel he had began on the Sudan.

It was soothing to read to Sherlock. It almost made John believe that he was still on the Sudan and the last week hadn't happened. For the next day he read the whole book, John formulated that by the ending of the novel Sherlock would open his eyes just to tell John to 'shut up'.

Naturally as John read the last paragraph Sherlock made no motion to stir. He laid there motionless, just the steady up and down of his chest to assure John that Sherlock was still alive. John bowed his head.  _Sherlock's never waking up is he? He survived, just to never wake up. Maybe we should move him._

But moving him felt like giving up. If they took him back to Cairo then who would solve the murders? Sherlock was the only one who could do it. John was sure of it. Like a lightning bolt, John understood.

Sherlock had been bitten by the snake so that he couldn't find the murderer. It made horrible sense. Why hadn't he seen it before?  _Because I was too concerned about Sherlock. Who knows? Maybe the murderer has already escaped. Did Sherlock figure out who it was?_

John grabbed for the hands that were resting on Sherlock's chest. "They did this to you, didn't they? Because I was too stupid to realize you had almost figured out the puzzle. Sherlock, did I fail you so badly?"

John knew he was allowing self-pity to cloud his rational brain. There was no reason John would have known that Sherlock was close...he wasn't a mind reader. John let out a shaky sigh. "Please wake up. I won't fail you again. I'll protect you."

John licked his lips and blinked back tears. He wasn't going to lose his cool; he just wasn't. Instead of dwelling on his negative thoughts, John reached for his medical kit to patch up Sherlock's leg again.

The well-known action calmed him down again. After shutting the kit, he reached for Sherlock's hand again. It was less clammy than the day before and John stooped his head down to run his cheek over Sherlock's palm. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek lovingly over the smooth skin.

Sherlock's fingers twitched. John gasped and almost dropped it. John turned to look at Sherlock's face.  _Please open your eyes. Please open your eyes._ "Sherlock, please wake up. You can't die. Stop this...for me. Just this one miracle, please." John's fingers petted over Sherlock's cheek, bringing his fingers to the sweaty fringe that was plastered to his forehead. "Please wake up. I still need you."

Sherlock remained motionless.

* * *

 

The creak in John's neck was familiar as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The hand on top of his head was not so familiar. John's eyes widened in shock. "Sherlock...?"

No answer came. John wanted to throw his head up but instead, slowly lifted it. The hand slipped from his head and John turned to face Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes were finally open and he gave John a weak smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to see all the new followers for this story! I would love to hear your thoughts on it :D


	13. Dune 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all the new followers of this story! Please make sure and comment. I’d love to hear from you :D
> 
> P.S. Stella is a famous beer brand from Egypt since the 19th century.

John knew his resolve had crumbled as soon as Sherlock had looked him in the eyes. Sherlock's gaze was unfocused and he seemed to be looking right through him. John opened his mouth to let all the words that had been swirling around in his mind out but they stopped on his lips; refusing to form actual sounds.  _I can't tell him about what I'm starting to feel for him...I'll- it can wait for later. Yes, later. It would just confuse him now._

John closed his mouth and swallowed down the words he had been so anxious to say only a seconds before.

"How are you feeling?"

Sherlock didn't need to roll his eyes for John to know he had asked an obvious question. Sherlock would be hazy from the pain killers and after being in a coma for almost a week, he was disoriented and weak. John reached over for his glass of water and tipped it towards Sherlock's cracked lips.

Sherlock coughed on the first mouth full, but after that he drank the rest of it hungrily. John could barely imagine how dry his throat must feel. Turning his eyes to John, he gave the man an apologetic look.

"I know. Go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." John faintly squeezed Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock's lips moved up into a weak smile before his eyelids fluttered shut again.

John heaved a heavy sigh. Everything would finally return to the way it should be...and it couldn't be soon enough.

* * *

 

"I've been out for a week?! Why didn't you wake me up?"

John bit at his lower lip. As soon as Sherlock had regained full consciousness he hadn't stopped asking questions. John had answered them as best he could but when Sherlock found out that John hadn't been to the temple in almost a week, Sherlock had started to chastise him.

"What were you thinking, Watson? They could have escaped! To think you let them-" Perhaps it was the odd colour of purple that John's face turned that made Sherlock stopped mid-rant. Either way, John was finding that he didn't like Sherlock talking down to him the moment he had woken up. The prat hadn't even uttered one "thank you". John's patience was already paper thin and Sherlock had only been awake for an hour.

"Did you think I could leave you? To go do what...? Search the temple? Holmes, you were bit by an  _extremely_ poisonous viper!" John knew he should be calm. Forgive Sherlock for his brassiness. But now that he was no longer afraid Sherlock was going to die, he was angry about the scare the younger man had given him.

Sherlock crossed his arms. "I didn't need to be babysat. I was  _unconscious._ Meanwhile, everything I have been working on-"

This time Sherlock was interrupted by John standing up so fast his chair clattered to the floor. "I couldn't! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I couldn't leave you, Sherlock. How could I concentrate on anything else other than thinking about the fact that you could  _die_ and I was practically helpless to prevent it? Do you know how that feels? God, Sherlock. You were so pale...and your fever." John's eyes blazed and he breathed heavily; his arms clenched at his sides.

"Watson...?" Sherlock's eyebrows bunched together. He looked honestly confused at John's outburst. It doused some of the flames but John found it hard to completely believe that Sherlock didn't know what he was doing wrong.

"John. I'm sorry. Please sit back down." Sherlock patted the side of his bed.

John looked down at his fallen chair and then back at Sherlock. Sighing, John's shoulders sagged. He sat down at the very edge of Sherlock's bed. Sherlock bowed his head. They sat like that in silence; one too afraid to speak and the other afraid to say too much.

Finally, Sherlock spoke first. "I couldn't have asked for a better doctor. It's selfish of me, but I'm happy you were here to care for me."

The rest of the anger leaked from John's face. With another sigh, he patted Sherlock's arm. "Yeah, I was happy to be here too." Before he could think better of it, John bent down and placed a hard kiss on Sherlock's forehead. "But don't think that allows you to be insufferable."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. Slowly a smile softened his features and he looked fondly up at John. 

* * *

 

After Sherlock wolfed down his first full meal, he tried to leap out of bed. John was forced to bring Mycroft to his aid to keep the younger Holmes in bed. Sherlock had sighed dramatically but John knew he was still weaker than he cared to show. No matter how indestructible Sherlock tried to act his body still needed more time to recover.

Once Sherlock feel into a relaxed sleep, John left the tent and went to grab some dinner. Unexpectedly, Lestrade and the police officers were all sitting around eating together. Although as John got closer it appeared to be more drinking than eating.

All thought of food was replaced with a need for a stiff drink. Lestrade just tipped his head up in greeting before handing John a Stella. The cap was already off and John gulped down the beer hungrily. It was lukewarm and it tasted fantastic. John polished it off before he could register the taste of it on his tongue.

He tipped the bottle from his mouth and reached for another one. He sat down next to Lestrade and they chinked their bottles together.

"To health and sanity." Lestrade smiled.

"I'll drink to that." Hell, he would have drunken to anything. He just need copious amounts of alcohol and the sooner the better.

"All I'm saying is that maybe it would be better you all returned to Cairo until the murderer or murderers are captured. They're clearly not going to stop any time soon. And with another body-" Anderson shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his Stella.

"Another body?" John's eyebrows bunched together. He hadn't heard of another body being discovered.

"Yeah, mate. They found the dig's managers body at Prof. Moriarty's campsite this afternoon. Some organs had been removed and it appears to be the same killer again. Although I doubt there are many serial killers running around the desert." Lestrade dug the toe of his boot into the sand.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The beer almost dropped from John's hand. Another body had been found and nobody had felt a need to inform him? Fatigue and anger made John's temples start to pound.

"Well, you were busy with Mr. Holmes and I didn't want to put any more pressure on you." Lestrade didn't look up from staring at his boot in the sand.

"Don't forget that woman is missing. Miss. Morstan, I believe." Donovan wiped her hand over her mouth.

"Mary's missing?!" John jumped up and this time the beer did slip from John's hand and spilled out onto the desert floor.

"I'm sure she's fine, John. So far the murderer has only killed men so-"

"Only killed men?! Lestrade, there are only two woman at the whole two dig sites! That's half the female population!" Sherlock's words were ringing in John's ears.  _What were you thinking, Watson?_ What had he been thinking? He had let two more people be killed because he had been too concerned about Sherlock. But, John didn't feel guilty about the time he had spent with Sherlock...how could he?

John felt sick. Not because he felt guilty but because he knew that given the chance to do it again he would still chose to stay at Sherlock's side. He couldn't even argue with himself that it was because he had been acting as a doctor; the only fact that mattered was that it had been Sherlock.

"Why are you all sitting around and not looking for her?" John's guilty conscious turned to rage. Mary was lost and alone somewhere in the desert and they were all sitting around getting pissed.

"We can't look for her at night. We'd just get lost ourselves. We're going to continue the search in the morning." Anderson offered. He bit back a sour look and eyed John.

John clenched his teeth. Getting into an argument because he was angry at himself would feel good in the moment but John knew he would quickly regret it. Biting back a snarky retort, John took the beer that had fallen to the sand and wiped off the lip. "Yeah, I'll join you. First light."

Anderson curled up his lip and gave John a 'you don't order me around face' but raised no protest. Donovan just shrugged her shoulder and continued to drink her Stella. Lestrade grabbed his arm and squeezed it before letting go. John finished his beer on the way back to Sherlock's tent.

* * *

 

Sherlock was up and engrossed in a book when John opened the flap to the tent. He had lit a few candles but John could tell that Sherlock was still squinting to read in the weak light.

"You were right." John sighed as he plopped heavily into the seat next to Sherlock's bed.

"I rarely am not." Sherlock didn't look up from his book.

John reached for the book, shut it and placed it at the foot of Sherlock's bed. Sherlock looked up and his face was a cross between astonishment and irritation. "I would ask you why you just did such an incredibly rude thing but I can tell that I have no choice but to listen."

John wiped a hand over his face. He brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Ray is dead and Mary is missing. I know it's my fault, so you don't have to tell me." Bringing his head down he placed his hands over his head, forehead resting on his knees.

"Watson..." Sherlock's voice sounded strained but it didn't stop a broken laugh from bubbling up from John.

"You were right. I bet you like hearing that, huh? I stayed by your side and look, someone was killed. Lord god, I can only hope that Mary is safe." He let a bitter laugh escape. "We both know that's impossible. She's dead. They're going to find her mutilated body and it's all my fault."

"Watson, really. I-"

John heard Sherlock shifting on the bed. A hand landed on his own, covering them. John bit back a sob.  _Maybe having that beer on an empty stomach was a mistake._ John's head was slightly fuzzy and it felt as if the whole world were crumbling before him.

"You're exhausted. You should be the one resting." Sherlock's fingers stroked the top of John's hands. "What I said earlier was wrong and I apologize."

Normally hearing Sherlock apologize would have John teasing him, now it didn't even put a smile on his face. The tension in his neck and shoulders refused to leave; he dug his nails into his scalp. "No, no. You were right. I failed everyone. But what could I have done? You're the brain. What do I do? I blunder behind you with a gun. I can't investigate these murders by myself."

"John." The word was firm and it made the fingers that were digging into John's head release some of their force. "John, look at me. Please."

John just shook his head. He was afraid tears would start and if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop them.

"Please stop thinking so little of yourself. I realize that being injured has destroyed some of your self-confidence but this isn't like you. Where's the man who wanted to deck me as soon as he saw me? John, this isn't like you."

John's head when flying up and Sherlock's hand was knocked away. "How do you know what I'm like? You know nothing about me. Nothing, Holmes."

John moved to raise from his chair. Sherlock's hand shot out and he grabbed for John's knee. "I know enough to know that you're a good man and a true friend."

Keeping his eyes averted, John focused on the warm hand on his knee. Sherlock continued speaking when John didn't make any move to raise from the chair again. "Even though we've been together a short time, I can see what kind of man you are. Strong. Brave. Steadfast. Someone willing to give everything for another person, even one they've only just met."

Sherlock's hand moved up John's thigh to rest mid-way up it. "John, don't allow me to make you second guess yourself. You were right to stay. I could have relapsed and needed another shot of anti-venom. You were doing your duty."

"Don't you see? To hell with my 'duty'! It mattered because it was  _you_! You mean so much to me and I..." John licked his lips trying to settle down. The last thing he needed was to say something even more rash than he already had.

"You confuse me. Nothing confuses me, John. When I first saw you, I just wanted to talk to you, know you. I never want to talk to anyone...unless I can gain something. I just wanted to have a conversation to know  _you._ No alternative motive, no case. Just you. I've never wanted that before." Sherlock lowered his head and removed his hand from John's knee.

John knew his chest was going to explode at any second. There was no way his heart could beat so fast without it bursting through his ribcage. Sherlock's words made John's palms sweat and relief flooded his system.  _I'm not the only one who feels like this is special._

All the bent up tension fell from his shoulders and the need for sleep took its place. John stifled a yawn. Sherlock's back went ridge. "You need sleep. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, thanks." There were other words that needed to be said but they could wait. Still, John couldn't stop from saying, "You matter to me to me too, Sherlock. I've never met anyone as captivating or brilliant as you." He placed a kiss on Sherlock's head.

"Naturally." Sherlock sniff and went to reach for his book.

John's hand went down to cup Sherlock's chin. The younger man looked up at him through thick lashes and John brought Sherlock's chin up so he could place a gentle kiss on closed lips.


	14. Dune 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took me forever to update. I see a pretty light and then I get distracted. I have no excuse really. Just, please, enjoy!   
> Eish Masri- Egyptian bread

John ground his teeth together until his jaw was a mess of raw nerves. They had found Mary's body. She had been torn to pieces by crocodiles and her death was ruled as an accident by the authorities. John could understand why...did they really want another murder? No, it was easier it just write off this death as an 'accident'. He had tried to fight with the stupid, incompetence but for once Sherlock had been the one to make him walk away.

Staring out at the Nile, he watched the water lap up against the shore. It was so peaceful it was painful. Cat tails whispered in the breeze and John knew there were crocodiles littering the area even though he couldn't see them- a deadly danger just below the surface. He tried not to think of the ones that were swimming around with parts of Mary in them. The thought made his stomach roll.

Sherlock had left him alone with his thoughts and John had been grateful for it. But now he couldn't tear his gaze away for the river and he wished that Sherlock would come and comfort him. John sat down hard on the sand and cursed his fickleness. He let out a bitter laugh.  _Sherlock was right. Sentiment is a mistake. What good am I to anyone right now? All I can do is moan and lament about what's happened. This isn't going to solve anything!_

John brought his legs up and buried his head in his arms. His eyes were rimmed red and he knew he had to get back to camp. His legs were just too heavy and nothing seemed to matter. John kicked at the sand with his boot and let out another curse.

A hand touched his shoulder and a gentle warmth spread over the spot. John didn't have to raise his head to know it was Sherlock. He could sense the other man now. John fought with the conflicting emotions to either shrug Sherlock's hand away or to pull him into a crushing embrace.

Sherlock didn't give him a choice. The boy sat down and wrapped his arm around John's waist. He placed a kiss on John's ear and didn't say a word. John was grateful for that. That sat in each other's embrace and just absorbed the calming presence of the other person. John collected his thoughts and Sherlock waited for him to talk.

"Do you think I could have saved her?" John knew it was a burden to ask Sherlock this but there was no one else to ask. The cops didn't believe them and John just couldn't talk to Lestrade about it. The other actually believed the police and John didn't want anyone to go into a panic about it.

"That's a complicated question with no real answer." Sherlock's tone was to the point with no sympathy. Exactly what John didn't want to hear.

"You're shit at comforting a person." It made John let out a small bitter laugh.

"I'm no fortune teller, John." Sherlock leaned closer and their shoulders brushed together. "Even if you hadn't been with me, I believe that she still would have been murdered. It was beyond your control."

Hearing Sherlock voice that he believed that Mary had been murdered too made a weight lift from John's shoulders. He couldn't fight back a sob as the guilt of what had happened was lessened. "Why does no one else see that?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He wrapped his arm around John's and rested his head on John's shoulder. "Do you understand how frustrating that is? To see what no one else can? How angry it makes you when the answer is right in front of their idiot faces and they  _still_ don't understand. They never do, John. Never."

John knew that Sherlock was talking about more than just Mary's murder. It was a lifetime of being able to see what others couldn't. Or what they just refused to see. Sherlock couldn't deny reality like that. If he saw it, then that was his truth. Sherlock was a slave to truth in his own way. Sherlock was sharing a part of himself that he rarely, if ever shared with others.

John let out a long sigh. "They don't, do they? We'll just have to show them, won't we? We have to find the bastards." John knew he won't be able to have a peaceful night's rest until he knew the that every last one of them was in jail...or in the ground with a bullet from his gun in their chest.

* * *

 

Sherlock finally dragged him up from the cooling sand. The sun was setting and they could no longer avoid going back to the tents.

When they arrived, Lestrade was waiting for them. His face looked pained and he let out a relieved sigh when he caught sight of him and Sherlock. "I was starting to get worried about you too."

John wanted to answer with a snarky reply but all he did was nod his head. They were all feeling on edge and there was no point angering Lestrade just because he was itching for a fight. John would have suggested some more drinking but the last thing they needed to be was drunk.

"Mycroft needs to speak with the both of you." Lestrade said simply.

John nodded. Sherlock followed close behind. The sun had already set by the time they made it to the Sudan. The smell of food assaulted John's senses and his stomach let out a hungry growl. He had skipped lunch after what had happened with Mary. The thought of food still wasn't every appetizing but he needed to eat something. Mr. Holmes was already sitting at the table, his umbrella lazily twirling in one hand. 

There was spots set up for them. Forgoing pleasantries, John sat down at the table and grabbed for some Eish Masri. It was still warm and John couldn't fight back a happy hum as the bread dissolved in his mouth. Sherlock sat down rigidly next to him and made no move to touch the food before them.

"I know you're not hungry but please eat something." He knew Sherlock wouldn't want him to baby him, but the skinny boy needed to eat. Sherlock hadn't fainted from the heat yet, but the Egyptian desert wasn't London. Besides, if Sherlock did pass out he would be a waiting target for the murderers.

Sherlock worked this all out in his mind. It was the only logical conclusion because Sherlock actually did grab for some of the Eish Masri. John liked to believe it was because he had asked but John really knew it was because it was the logical thing to do.

They munched away on their dinner for a few minutes before Mr. Holmes spoke. "My condolences about Mary Morstan."

Like his brother, Mr. Holmes' voice didn't sound very distressed over the fact. John wondered if they would even feel distressed if it had been their own mother.  _I hope Sherlock don't act that stoic if he ever saw my died body._ John swallowed thickly around his food and reached for his water.

"I had Greg call you because we are all under the impression that Miss. Morstan's death was no accident."

John nodded. Sherlock let out a snort. "If you only wish to discuss the obvious than please spare us the displeasure of having to listen to you talk."

Mr. Holmes ignored his younger brother's biting words. John was sure he had plenty of experience with it. "I wished to speak with you both about the fact that these murders aren't going to stop and the police are incompetent."

The 'as usual' was implied. John wondered if Sherlock had adopted his love of the police from his brother. There was no love loss in that relationship. John could see why though; it was frustrating to be working against the people who were suppose to be your ally.

"Yes, and?" Sherlock drawled. Sherlock took another bite of bread and his cheek rested on his hand. He couldn't look more bored with the world if he had fallen asleep.

"I can keep the police away from you. However, that can only be for so long. I want my artifacts, Sherlock. I do not wish to use favours uselessly. You need to find the murderers or tell me who they are so that I can have them arrested. I have no patience for you and John to continue to play detective."

Sherlock's expression soured.

John figured that Mr. Holmes knew who the murderers were or at least had his suspicions. This was Mr. Holmes' way of allowing his brother to continue with his investigation but to tell him to hurry up. Even the Holmes name could go so far in the Egyptian desert. John knew he didn't need the extra encouragement. He wanted to catch the bastards and put them away for good.

"Another week, Mycroft. You'll have your men and I promise all of the artifacts will be safety on the Sudan." It obviously pained Sherlock to promise his brother that. But Sherlock knew it was a bad idea to test him. Maybe in London he could disrespect whoever he wanted, but in the desert Mr. Holmes' word was law.

Mycroft nodded approvingly. "If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask." He looked at John as he said this.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Each man was lost in his own thoughts. Right as he and Sherlock were standing up from the meal. Sherlock broke the silence. "I need my own gun."

Mr. Holmes stared at his brother. John saw him barely blink in reply. This seemed to satisfy Sherlock and he motioned with his head for John to follow him into the interior of the Sudan.

 _Should I go to my own room? Or am I following Sherlock to his?_ John felt paralyzed with the inability to decide.

"Come on, Watson. I don't have time for any more personal crises today." Sherlock said as he opened the door to his cabin. John hesitated for only a moment before following behind.

The room was almost pitch black. Sherlock made no move to turn on the light and John didn't either. He waited in the dark until he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around him. John groped blindly for him in the dark. His arms wrapped around Sherlock tightly.

Sherlock held on so tight it nearly crushed him. John said soothingly, "It's going to be fine."

Sherlock's body stiffened. "I know that."

Then Sherlock's body went limp. "I know that." He repeated. John kissed Sherlock's neck. That was all he needed to say. If Sherlock wanted to say more then he would. But there wasn't really anything else that they needed to be said with words. Both of them were invested in finding the murderers. Even if Mary hadn't been killed, John's sense of justice still would have made it impossible to let him rest until they were captured.

John knew that what drove Sherlock to find the culprits was different than his own. But in the moment it didn't matter. It didn't matter if Sherlock cared about who had been killed. Still, John wondered if some of his concern had rubbed off of the more stoic boy.

It was a conflicting feeling. John was happy that it confirmed the face that Sherlock could feel but at the same time he didn't want him to be in such pain. It seemed to selfish.

Maybe the reason Sherlock locked away his softer emotions was because he would feel it more astutely than others. Everything seemed to be enhanced when it came to Sherlock. John certainly knew that his own emotions were stronger whenever the tall lanky boy was concerned.

They held onto each other in the dark. Just feeling the other's presence and taking strength from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I haven't abandoned any of my fanfics. I just get distracted and this happens. Sorry. Please forgive me. I'll keep updating.


	15. Dune 15

It was a restless night. John wanted to toss and turn but Sherlock had actually fallen asleep and he didn't want to wake him. No matter how hard Sherlock tried to deny it, he was still exhausted from his brush with death and John wanted to make sure he could get all the rest possible.

John laid unmoving, listening to the steady in and out of Sherlock's breathing. It was a soothing reminder that the impossible man was alive and still with him. Thoughts went back to all the bonds he had made and lost in the short few weeks. If John had thought his world had been turned upside when he joined the army, that was only because he hadn't met Sherlock yet.

 _When I hadn't met Sherlock..._ That life no longer existed. Could a world still exist without this? The adrenaline rush. Seeing the world in a whole new way. Life had never been dead to him, it had just turned bland. John's body rocked as the Sudan swayed to the lapping water.

"Shut up. I can hear you thinking..." Came an angry sleepy voice from above John's head.

"Sorry, I just can't turn it off." John sighed. He wasn't surprised Sherlock could hear his thoughts. Their tension probably radiated from every pore of his body. "I'll go to my room."

"I never asked you to do that." The arms that had grown limp around John tightened. "I, more than anyone, know how impossible it can be to turn off one's thoughts. Sometimes I feel like they're going to consume me."

"I just want everything to go right." There were other fears but John didn't know the right words to express them. He wasn't really sure what his fears really were. They were just a huge jumbled up mess in his chest weighing him down.

"It will. I'm on the case, remember?" The words were spoken with the cockiness of youth. It reminded John just how young Sherlock was. That, no matter how hard someone wished it, sometimes things  _didn't_ work out for the best...that sometimes the bad guys did win.

John had watched young men, who had thought they were invincible, blown away by enemy fire. A bullet didn't care which side you were on. John had had to learn that harsh reality himself when a bullet had ripped his shoulder apart.

"Just...be careful okay?"  _This isn't only about you anymore._ John had to ask it. What Sherlock actually said mattered little but John still had to go through the motions.

"You're being extremely emotional, Watson." When John said nothing, Sherlock let out a long sigh and put his chin on John's head. "I will, John. Now please go back to sleep. I'm surprisingly tired."

John buried his head closer next to Sherlock's chest and inhaled deeply. Sherlock's scent was soothing and soon with help from the gentle rocking of the boat, John fell into a restless slumber.

* * *

When John woke up, Sherlock was already gone. Tension filled John's body and he tried not to call out Sherlock's name.  _There's no reason for me to get this worried._ As if to prove his point, Sherlock walked back into the cabin. His hair was matted down and he had already changed.

"There is not a moment to waste. John, we need the evidence to put away Moriarty. Mycroft said I had a week. Hum! I can solve this in three days!" Sherlock stared down his nose at John.

All John wanted to do was roll over and fall asleep again. Whatever sleep he had gotten wasn't near enough. But the last thing John could do was let Sherlock go by himself. John rolled out of bed and swayed as his vision blurred before him.

"Just give me a few minutes to get ready." He pulled his shirt over his head. John went to take off his pants when he felt a pair of eyes on him. Turning his head, John's gaze locked with Sherlock's wide eyes.

Even though it had be only about a week since they had done anything, it seemed a lot longer. Even though they had just shared the same bed together, suddenly John was unsure about whether or not he was allowed to get dressed with Sherlock in the room. "Um, should I go to my room?"

The unfocused look that had been on Sherlock's eyes was blinked away at John's question. Sherlock's brows furrowed and his mouth set in a hard line. John licked his lips nervously unsure what he should do to undo the damage of his words.

He didn't need to as Sherlock surged forward and his mouth covered John's surprised one. The kiss was ferocious and it hurt John's lips. Sherlock's hands groped blindly at him. Fingernails dug into John's back. Sherlock's tongue thrust its way into John's mouth and drank up every part of him.

After the initial shock, John's arms flung up and gripped at Sherlock's bony hips. Sherlock's kisses were desperate. The black haired boy moaned into John's mouth and pressed his body even harder against him.

John lost his footing and collapsed back down on the bed. Sherlock writhed on top of him until he was straddling him. He shoved his hips hard against John. In answer, John planted his feet on the ground and pushed up against Sherlock.

They ground against each other as Sherlock took John's lower lip in between his teeth and bit on it hard. John cursed as he tasted blood on his tongue. Sherlock's fingers clawed at his chest and goosebumps raised on John's skin as fingernails skid along his nipples. John rearranged his body so that he was laying fully on the bed. Sherlock was still straddling him, trapping him on it.

"You are  _mine_." It was spoken with a growl.

The three words sent a shiver down John's back. Sherlock had always acted complacent about whatever their relationship was to him. Worry scraped at the back of him mind- the solider part of his brain.  _He's sounds desperate._ John had heard men admit to their darkest fears and to their most precious secrets on the operating table.  _Does Sherlock really fear the murderers this much? Does his fear of Moriarty run that deep?_

"We're going to be fine." John wasn't sure if that was what Sherlock wanted to hear, but John knew  _he_ needed to hear the words.

"Nothing is certain in this world." Sherlock said as he bit along John's neck. There was nothing loving in the touch- just raw need and the urge to possess. John growled low in his throat and reached forward to pull down Sherlock's trousers.

If Sherlock needed to know that he was still his then John would show him. Show him, that no matter what happened, they still belonged to each other now. Sherlock didn't tell him to stop, so John took that as all the permission he needed to lower Sherlock's trousers and pants.

One of Sherlock's hands were desperately trying to unbutton John's trousers too. John hadn't even been hard before, now he ached against his clothes and needed release. John hissed when Sherlock's hand began to rub along his cock.

John finally got Sherlock's own hard prick out of his pants and squeezed it in his palm. It was just another reassurance that Sherlock Holmes was alive and healthy. John thought he had been over Sherlock's brush with death, but their present situation only reminded him how terrified he had been for the young man.

There movements were slower to a more unhurried pace and John let his mind go blissfully blank as they rubbed and touched each other. Sherlock's mouth was all over him. Sherlock's mouth kissed and tasted sun tanned skin. The cotton shirts had done little to shield them from the desert sun. All it did was prevent John from being sunburned under his clothes.

John took a moment to marvel at how different their skin tones were. Sherlock was still incredibly pale after all the time in the desert. The only major difference being that now he looked less sickly and the tip of his nose was red. Sherlock's time in the tent had lessened the sun's affects and now John couldn't make out the tan lines as clearly as he had before.

Sherlock wiggled his way down John's body and without a word took John's cock into his mouth. John made no effort to stop the groan that escaped his lips as Sherlock's own cherry red one's were wrapped around him.

His mouth was hot, wet and John gripped at Sherlock's shoulders so he wouldn't thrust into it too hard. It was clearly apparent that Sherlock had barely any experience but his enthusiasm more than made up for his lack of skills. Teeth brushed along his sensitive underside and John had to bit down a sharp cry.

All too soon the familiar pressure in his lower belly was ready to explode. He tugged at Sherlock's shoulders but the boy made no move to take his mouth off of John. He could feel his cock grow more rigid as Sherlock hollowed out his cheeks and sucked harder.

Unable to stop himself, John thrust up as he came in Sherlock's mouth. The mess of black curls jerked away and Sherlock sputtered.

John bit back a laugh. "I tried to warn you."

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously. "Let's see how well you are at it."

John's mouth curled up into a smirk. "Oh, really?"

John pulled at Sherlock's arms and threw him back down on the bed. Sherlock's cock had started to go limp but after a few opened mouthed kisses that involved a lot of tongue, Sherlock was squirming underneath him completely hard.

Sherlock was less able to control his thrusting and John had to hold onto his hips to stop Sherlock from making him gag. All too soon, Sherlock let out a low howl as he came in John's mouth. Thankfully, John had more experience and didn't gag as come hit the back of his throat.

Sherlock's hands flew up and gripped onto John's hair hard. It felt like he was trying to pull out his hair by the roots. John let his tongue trail up one last time, Sherlock let out a strangled yelp, now too sensitive.

John flopped down to Sherlock's side and pulled him close. He made lazy patterns with his fingers on Sherlock's arm. Although they had little time to spare, John was enjoying the post-orgasm glow too much to want to get up and face reality. Sherlock seemed to agree as he made no move to get off the bed.

"Come back to London with me." Sherlock's voice was low and muffled against John's neck.

"You know I can't." It hurt more than John would have ever thought to say it. He never in a thousand years would have imagined Sherlock would invite him back to his home. But he couldn't go. John never wanted to face his family again.

"Money isn't an issue." Sherlock's body had gone ridged at John's refusal. He obviously hadn't been expecting anything other than a 'yes'. That certainty about his willingness to do as Sherlock demanded angered John.

"You could tell the moment you laid eyes on me that I have issues with my family." John tried to keep his voice even but there was still insulted anger underlining every word. "Do you think I would just drop everything I've built here to follow you back to England?"

Sherlock sat up. His head was turned but John didn't need to see it. He could hear how stone hard Sherlock's words and features had become as he said, "Nothing but a convenient fuck am I? Well, I hope you had your fun."

Before John could try and fix the damage that had been done, Sherlock was off of the bed and readjusting his clothes. John tried to sort out everything that had just transpired. John had assumed that he had been the only one to put any real emotions into what they were doing. Apparently, Sherlock wasn't as unaffected as he tried to act.

The door slammed and the sound jerked John from his disjointed thoughts. He reached for this clothes and jumped off the bed trying to catch up to Sherlock before he had gotten to far. He could never go back to London, but that didn't mean he didn't want Sherlock to stay in Egypt with him.

 _I have to make this right!_ John was so busy getting dressed and worrying about Sherlock that he forgot to check if his gun was still in its holster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Here's the hint: From now on, it's Sherlock's POV!


	16. Dune 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV 
> 
> I refer to John's pistol as just 'a gun' in his because to me Sherlock's kind of cutting of the details for it. 
> 
> This is more of a transition chapter for the second part of the story. Sorry for the short length.

“So, Watson, in conclusion, I believe that it will be the key to exposing the plot and sending those evil bastards to a nice Egyptian jail for a very long time.” Sherlock finished his speech and waited to hear words of praise from John. Except none never came. Sherlock blinked. “Watson?”

Sherlock turned his head from side to side and was greeted with an empty tent. He furrowed his eyebrows. “John? Where are you?”  

Because the man had been right next to him not even a second ago...hand’t he? Hadn’t he? Sherlock closed his eyes and examined all that he had done in the last few hours. When he finally realized that John hadn’t been there for awhile, he went back even farther to the beginning of the day. Then he went back to the morning, when he had made the mistake of exposing some of his emotions. 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose up in disgust. 

Sure, it had shocked Sherlock at first, but he had discarded John’s answer and not thought about it the rest of the day. Those pesky emotions were in their box where they belonged. Except, maybe they hadn’t been as sealed away like he thought they had been. 

With a sickening feeling, Sherlock came to the conclusion that he had been holding a conversation with a man who hadn’t been there all day. 

_Where did John go? Why is he not here?_ Sherlock realized with a shock that John hadn’t even followed him out of the Sudan. Sherlock dashed back to the ship. He tried to tell himself that he was being completely irrational, but there was a rising fear that refused to be extinguished.

When Sherlock slammed open the door to his bedroom on the Sudan, he went for the ‘secret’ location where John kept his gun. The pit of Sherlock’s stomach dropped out when he saw the gun happily laying in the locked drawer.  

Sherlock checked the chamber and it was loaded. _Don’t be rash, Sherlock. Think this through. Now is not the time to forget that Jim Moriarty is a man who never looses his nerves. If the Professor really does have him, he is not dead- injured but not dead. Personal feelings. Emotions._  

The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. 

Whose emotions was he most worried about? There was no time to consider it and yet it seemed to keep demanding his attention. Begging to be taken as more important than Sherlock had ever thought them before. Was it his own emotions? Moriarty’s? Watson’s? Sherlock felt frozen in place. _Where do I go now?_

Sherlock looked down at the gun resting in his hand. It wasn’t he was a man who hated violence, more that the mental should always be able to overcome the physical. Sure, he had practiced the martial arts but that was more to spite his mother...besides he wasn’t completely unrealistic about the need for physical strength. 

The Sudan swayed and brought Sherlock back to reality. _Think._  

But the moment no longer called for thinking it called for action. 

Sherlock took the gun with him as ran from John’s room. Mycroft was exactly where knew he would be and Sherlock made sure to avoid all eye contact and any calls for his attention. Sherlock was now on a mission and so naturally he would go alone. If his brother was truly interested all he would have to do was walk the ten feet it would take to see John’s room. That would supply Mycroft Holmes with all the knowledge he would need.  

The sun was already beginning to set and Sherlock decided to use it to his advantage. Stealthily, Sherlock moved along feeling his heartbeat racing, as he raced over the sand. Despite his attempts to still his heart it didn’t work. Sherlock’s breathing was elevated and he had to take a moment to gather himself.  

Bottling his emotions. Emotions. Sherlock frowned. _Why am I still doing this? Why am I even still thinking about this?_ John needed his help _now._ Never before had any thoughts other than his goal ever crossed Sherlock’s mind during a case. _Is that what this is now? A case?_

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut so hard that he could see stars. His breathing was ragged and his heart soon followed- pounding against his ribcage. _Stop it! Just stop it! Listen to me!_ Sherlock wanted to pull out his hair and fall to his knees. 

_Why didn’t I notice sooner? Why was I so oblivious? How?_ Sherlock opened his eyes and turned his face up to the moon. Better to admit to it, deal with it and move past it.  

_I’m in love with John Watson. This feels like a personal attack. I put him in danger. My own ignorance is to blame. I will solve this. It will end. Everything will end and I will return to England. Alone._

“Alone...” The word escaped from Sherlock’s mouth softer than a whisper. That word, that thought had never scared him before. Worried him in any way. Now it seemed like a void that threatened to devour him whole. An emptiness in the shape of another person. 

It was beyond revolting.   

_Now put it past you and deal with the reality of now._ After blinking his eyes a few times, Sherlock averted his eyes from the crescent moon and continued to his way over the cooling evening sand. 

Sherlock reached the campsite but it was deathly quiet. Eerily quiet and it sent a shiver up Sherlock’s spine. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to realize that something was wrong. Even wronger than he could have predicted. Everything was gone. Well, not everything but everyone. Sherlock hadn’t planned for that. Sherlock cursed at himself for his uselessness.  

_This is where they need to be. This is where the temple is. Why abandon the original target?_

“The original target?” Sherlock muttered to himself as he shifted through papers on Irene Adler’s desk. 

Because what had the original target been? Who had the original target been? Mummies and half-cooked up spells. Nonsense. It was hard not to believe in the unbelievable even when it was staring you in the face. Sherlock needed facts and although he was loath to admit it, he still lacked some of the information he needed to have a more solid picture of the situation. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and went to the one place where emotions and feelings still couldn’t weaken him. Everything flashed by in a myriad of thought and sense in the inner recesses of his mind. Lights flashed as connections where made and the true reality of what was happening finally struck Sherlock directly in the chest. 

Sherlock dropped all the papers he was holding and went running out of the abandoned campsite. What he was searching for was no longer there. 

_They already have almost a full day’s worth of travel ahead of him. No matter, I won’t be beat._  

Sherlock dashed over the dunes, no longer caring how much noise he made. He had to reach the Sudan and his brother. For once, Sherlock hoped that Mycroft’s tendency to be nosy had already alerted him to the situation. Sherlock had no desire to waste time with preparations for their journey south.  

 _Wait for me, John._  

_Wait for me._


	17. Dune 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.touregypt.net/featurestories/setiabydos.htm shows pictures of the temple and has the general layout of the rooms.   
> http://www.reshafim.org.il/ad/egypt/religion/magic.htm site with stuff about magic.  
> Aish Merahrah- type of Egyptian flatbread.   
> Arabic Love Poem- “To A Lady Blushing”   
> Book of the Dead taken from Wikipedia page   
> Ba is believed to be the spirit and person itself Wiki
> 
> Remember Sherlock's POV. Please enjoy!

As they rode over the dunes, Sherlock was once again left to his thoughts. Just as he had suspected, Mycroft had readied everything for a hasty departure. At first, Sherlock had wanted to go it alone but both Lestrade and his brother had refused to let him go by himself. Hours later, Sherlock was happy that the two men had been steadfast in their desire to accompany him. For once, he could not do what he planned to alone.  

He had been such a fool. Sherlock had never allowed something or someone to cloud his thoughts like he had Captain John H. Watson. However, it wasn’t that he found himself mad at the Captain; no, Sherlock was complete infuriated at himself. 

Was it possible for a person to make so many mistakes? To miss so many links that made a clear and straight forward answer? Sherlock had failed in spectacular form and it was disgusting. Now with a long ride before them, all Sherlock could do was surrender to the negative thoughts swirling around in his mind.  

He hadn’t came to Egypt expecting anything to change, let alone for his entire understanding on what it meant to be ‘human’ to change. Sherlock had never allowed anyone to get close, yet he had been drawn to the retired medical doctor and former Army Captain like a bee to pollen. There was just something that came with being close to John that made his entire body hum with life.  

And Professor Jim Moriarty had seen it. Of course he had seen it. For once, he had been the ‘thick’ one. Blinded by the softer emotions and to look the fool for it. Well, now was his time to fix it all and make it right. It did not matter what the cost- almost any cost. _John will survive this gross miscalculation. I refuse to have him die because of what I overlooked._  

John’s life was the only sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make.  

Moriarty had no idea what monster he had awoken in Sherlock. The sword that his brother had handed him hang heavy on his belt, along with John’s gun- it was strapped under his arm. _No, it is a revolver. Webley revolver. Military standard issue 1887 to present day. This one has been kept in perfect servicing condition. John never missed cleaning it._ In John’s place, Sherlock intended to use it for its designed purpose.  

Sherlock could feel the heavy weight of what those words meant wrapping around him.   

Leila, whene'er I gaze on thee   
My altered cheek turns pale,   
While upon thine, sweet maid, I see   
A deep'ning blush prevail.

Leila, shall I the cause impart   
Why such a change takes place?   
The crimson stream deserts my heart,   
To mantle on thy face.

He really had learned Arabic just to impress John.  

Sherlock blinked back tears.  

\---- 

The sun had gone down and still they carried on. They stopped only when the camels where close to collapsing due to exhaustion. Sherlock felt his insides twist at the time wasting away in giving the animals rest. While it was true that they needed it too, Sherlock didn’t care.  

“Drink something.”  

Sherlock looked up to see Mycroft offering him a canister. He scoffed at it and looked away. Undeterred, Mycroft pressed it to him again. “It was not a request. I will not be dragging your dehydrated body across this godforsaken desert. Now drink.”  

Frowning, Sherlock took the canister and started to drink. Once he had taken his first sip, Sherlock realized how thirsty he really was. He gulped at the warm fluid greedily. Unlike any other time, he could not ignore his body’s need for food and drink. After that, Sherlock ate some of the Aish Merahrah that had been packed for the journey. It was thick in his throat and make Sherlock’s stomach turn.  

Sherlock glanced over to watch his brother and Lestrade talking. Mycroft’s hand lingered on the other man’s shoulder. Sherlock smiled bitterly to himself. To others the display would have seemed just friendly, but for Mycroft he was practically declaring undying love. _Just like everything else, I have been blind._

Not that he really cared what his older brother did in his personal time. More, that it was further proof that after the conclusion to their journey, nothing could ever be the same again. Life was changing all around him and Sherlock wasn’t sure how much he liked it. He had always been in control, now his entire life, was seeping through his fingers like sand.  

 _None of us are going to leave this the being the same person. We can never be what we once were. That’s if we even come back at all._ In that moment, Sherlock knew that he had been childish in many ways- selfishness, blindness and the desire to live by his own rules, no matter what the cost, where only a few of the offenses piled up before him. It was easy to admit once he could look at it with his defenses of self-assurance where down- now that he was vulnerable.  

Sherlock gritted his teeth. He was sick of drowning in self-pity. It was clear he had been wrong and now was the time to atone for his sins. He needed focus not on the past but on the present- the future. John needed him and Sherlock refused to let him down ever again.  

Even if it meant John could never be his, Sherlock had to save him. Had to give John back the life he would have led if he had never met Sherlock Holmes.  

“Let us be on our way.” Mycroft announced once the animals had rested long enough.  

Sherlock stretched his legs one final time before getting back onto his horse. Although Sherlock knew they had to keep a moderate pace, so that they didn’t kill the horses before they could arrive to the temple, it barely kept Sherlock from spurring the animal into a frantic gallop.  

\---

_The Temple of Seti I and the Osireion at Abydos._   

If it hadn’t held captive the man he loved, Sherlock would have taken time to admire the symmetry and architecture of such a magnificent piece of history. No matter what anyone thought, Sherlock really did adore everything Egyptian and it fascinated him almost as much as his chemistry set did.  

It was too easy. The entire temple looked deserted, not a single guard. It set the hairs on Sherlock’s neck up- something was wrong.  

Mycroft and Lestrade dismounted but Sherlock turned his horse around, trying to spot an enemy; some sign that he hadn’t been wrong again. He couldn’t be wrong, not about this.  

“Sherlock!”  

Sherlock whipped his head around at the sound of his brother shouting his name. There was a black cloud erupting from the mouth of the temple. It resembled thick smoke and it spread out to engulf them before they had any time to react.  

Sherlock’s horse reared up and he was thrown from the saddle. Hitting the ground hard, Sherlock’s breath was knocked out of him. He gasped for air and tried to reorient where he was. It was impossible to see what direction the temple lay. Sherlock scrambled back up to his legs and let out a grunt of pain when his bruised tailbone sent a jolt up his spine   

“Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled. Then he yelled again. No reply. 

Sherlock’s shouting was halted when he heard a sound echoing through the thick fog. Suddenly a shot cracked through the air. Sherlock turned his head around wildly but the sound seemed to have come from every direction. Sherlock withdrew his revolver.  

Then came the muffled sound of fighting. Through the black fog erupted a figure. Without a second though, Sherlock shot at it. In horror, Sherlock realized what he had done. Opening his eyes, Sherlock saw the remains of a clay man lay at his feet. Sherlock had heard of magic like this but he had never actually expected to see it in practice. Then the fragments of the clay solider erupted into black smoke.  

Moriarty had dabbled in powers that Sherlock had barely even fathomed were real. These were magic spells that one had to kill for- it was even thought that one had to turn into a cannibal. It made Sherlock’s skin crawl and in that moment, he knew why he had never been able side with such a man.  

Sherlock holstered the revolver to unsheathe his sword. He won’t have enough bullets to deal with what Moriarty was in the middle of unleashing on them. Beside, he wanted to save the bullets for the man who could feel it. Another clay solider broke through the smoke and Sherlock’s sword stabbed him directly in the middle of his torso.  

The solider started to crack around the sword and after shattering it erupted into black smoke, merging with the fog that surrounded him. The three of them would never be able to fight off the endless stream of magical warriors. Instead, they needed to run for the entrance of the temple.  

After a moment of hesitance, Sherlock put his faith in Mycroft’s ability to reach the same conclusion as he had. After taking a moment to try and orient himself, Sherlock ran in the direction of the temple’s entrance. Another clay solider materialized before him and without a second though, Sherlock cut its head off.  

His shirt clung to him with sweat and there was so much sand in his eyes that he was nearly blinded by it. He swung at another clay solider; it was different than cutting into flesh and the way the empty eyes just stared at him made Sherlock look away before the soldiers had even evaporated.  

Sherlock felt a weight being lifted from his mind when he caught sight of the stairs leading up to the temple. However, Sherlock did not let his guard down as the clay soldiers continued to attack him even though he was reaching the end of the thick fog. A spear slashed through the smoke and Sherlock barely avoided being stabbed through the shoulder.  

With one well placed thrust, the solider’s arm was cut off and then it was cut in half. Sherlock’s lungs burned and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he ran up the stairs. Nearly stumbling, Sherlock caught his footing and darted his way into the entrance of the temple.  

The black smoke cleared immediately and Sherlock began to wipe the sand from his eyes. There was no sign of Mycroft or Lestrade but Sherlock couldn’t wait for them. He sent out a quick prayer of protection to them before running toward’s the Main Chapels. 

Sherlock’s knuckles were taunt as he gripped his sword tighter. The only light came from the moon. The hot desert air was still stifling and sweat rolled down Sherlock’s brow as he creeped the final distance it took to reach the rooms that the thought held John captive.  

When he was a few feet away was when Sherlock first heard the sounds of not being alone in the temple. It sounded like muttering. He could hear nothing else. _John’s just been knocked out, that’s all. He is fine. Moriarty would not have killed him._ But what was happening? That part still made little sense to Sherlock- what was the end goal to all of this madness? 

Even after fighting off clay soldiers that had been brought to life by black magic, it was still nearly impossible to Sherlock to truly admit to himself what was unfolding around him. The fact that other worldly powers were at work and that Sherlock was combating with what had only ever been thought of a superstition. If all the legends of Egypt were true, than Sherlock had more to deal with than he could ever have imagined.  

With a chill, Sherlock remembered the Book of the Dead that had gone missing. It was obvious now that it had been stolen with more than just the intent of selling it at a market.  

Sherlock fought the urge to run into the Chapel. Instead, crouching down, Sherlock kept to the shadows as he snuck his way in. It wouldn’t help anyone if he was captured. The words that Sherlock could hear, were still completely garbled and his ears strained to just catch a word of it. 

When Sherlock’s eyes adjusted to the harsh torch light, Sherlock had to cover his mouth to stop a gasp from escaping it. Clay jars all scattered all around the Chapel, there was a wrapped mummy before the chanting figure and as Sherlock’s eyes scanned the room, he finally saw John.  

He was tied up and gagged. John’s body was limp and it was obvious that he had been knocked out. Sherlock’s shoulders stiffened as he took in the scene before him. It was worse than he had feared. Moriarty was bringing someone or _something_ back from the dead.  

Sherlock’s eyes turned upward as a bird flew through the hallway he had just come from. The chanting stopped and the figure raised up its hands. The hood fell back and Sherlock knew there was no mistaking that it was Moriarty.  

The man’s eyes were bulging and the look on his face was manic as he shouted-  

“Come for my soul, O you wardens of the sky! If you delay letting my soul see my corpse, you will find the eye of Horus standing up thus against you ... The sacred barque will be joyful and the great god will proceed in peace when you allow this soul of mine to ascend vindicated to the gods... May it see my corpse, may it rest on my mummy, which will never be destroyed or perish.”  

It was a ba-spirit. Moriarty was in the middle of bringing someone back from the dead. Sherlock watched transfixed at the bird circled the mummy. It let out a blood curdling scream then it erupted into a shimmer of light that dissolved into the mummy. After a moment of thick silence, Moriarty returned to his chanting.  

The mummy started to move. Sherlock watched in sick fascination as the spirit returned to the corpse. When the chest started to heave with breath, Moriarty let out a crackle of a laugh. He turned to where Sherlock was and head tilted to the side. They eyes locked.  

“Enjoying the show? It is about to get a _whole_ lot better.” Moriarty’s teeth gleamed in the torch light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shits about to hit the fan.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't forget to review!


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